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HOMESTUCK WRITINGaT FIRST YOU TOOK MY Breath AWAY,
and gavve me a glimmering Hope,
I fell for your fake charade,
and soon I SNAPPED LIKE A ROPE!
th3r3 w3nt th3 Fire In my s0u/,
:33< there went my broken Heart,
I think you felt so delightful,
when with your hands you tore my feelings apart!
theres now no Sound in my chest,
D--> theres just an empty Void,
I rEA11y h0pE y0U dId y0Ur BEZt,
bbecause nnow iim pparanoid!
my Dreams are now a memory,
I've l02T Sight 0f whaT2 r19HT,
I bet You were so happY,
to give me so much spite!
my Life now s-E-Ems wort)(l-Ess,
For Now There Is No Space,
it would be so priceless,
if there wasn't a smile on your face!
1'M B4S1C4LLY L0S1NG MY Mind,
SOON THERE WILL BE Blood SHED,
I UZEd t0 thInk y0U wErE Z0 kInd,
but now ITS ALL FINISHED!
y0u've ran 0ut 0f Time,
your Doom ii2 gettiing near,
when the clock will chime,
II'll nnever kknow mmy ddear!
I nOw kNoW nOtHiNg bUt Rage,
Death hAS TAken eveRyThing fRom me,
my body is now a cage,
inside,THE PAIN YOU'LL NEVER SEE!
It Wasn't Enough.IT WASN'T ENOUGH TO SHED MY BLOOD,
it wasn't en0ugh t0 run 0ut 0f Time,
iT WASN'T ENOUGH TO TAKE MY BREATH AWAY,
iit wa2n't enough to prevent my own Doom,
:33< it wasn't enough to keep my Heart safe,
It Wasn't Enough To Think Without Space,
1T W4SN'T 3N0UGH T0 L0S3 MY M1ND,
it w8sn't enough to snuff out my Light,
D --> it wasn't enough to fill my internal Void,
iT wAsN't eNoUgh tO sOoThE mY RaGe,
it wwasn't enough to lose all my Hope,
it wasn't -Enoug)( to k-E-Ep my Lif-E,
(Xainae)It wAsn't en0ugh t0 k33p th3 FIr3 burnIng In my s0u/,
(Myrnai)It wAZn't En0Ugh t0 kEEp my MInd In ZhApE,
(Triath)iit wwasn't eenough tto ggive mmy llife ssome Sspace,
(Atrasi/Artasia/Aphrodotia)IT wAsn'T enough To sAve me from DeATh,
(Bindls) 1t wa2n't enou9H to lo2e my 219HT,
(Yinaea)It wasN't eNough to balaNce the lIgHt,
(Yangea)it wAsN't eNouGh t
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attrition
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
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