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Description
I'm not a huge fan of my own freewrite this time as I feel it's not as rhythmic as I'd like, but is was stream of consciousness so, hey. Whatever, right? Also see if you can spot the Final Fantasy 1 reference: "Guilt has nailed me to the throne, of those who wail of those who moan, gift me a breath so fresh and free, I will imagine my escape if not freakishly, give up on not carrying the Weight of Atlas, want to hide my shame but not time to shop so I'm maskless, Heinous darkness the decay of the self, curse to sit in ruins alone like some dark elf."

GPT's Poem:
Guilt has nailed me to the throne,
In the court of wails and moans.
Bound by chains, unseen yet felt,
In the shadows, silently, I've dwelt.

Gift me a breath, fresh and free,
An escape imagined, if freakishly.
The weight of Atlas, my soul's attire,
A burden cloaked in hidden fire.

No mask to hide, no respite found,
In the market of life, I am bound.
Heinous darkness, decay of self,
A curse whispered with stealth.

Sitting in ruins, like a dark elf alone,
Amongst the echoes of stone.
A throne of guilt, a crown of thorn,
In the kingdom of the forlorn.

Yet in this pain, a spark of light,
A hope that cuts through the night.
For even Atlas, with the world on his back,
Found moments of peace in the endless black.

Description
I'm not a huge fan of my own freewrite this time as I feel it's not as rhythmic as I'd like, but is was stream of consciousness so, hey. Whatever, right? Also see if you can spot the Final Fantasy 1 reference: "Guilt has nailed me to the throne, of those who wail of those who moan, gift me a breath so fresh and free, I will imagine my escape if not freakishly, give up on not carrying the Weight of Atlas, want to hide my shame but not time to shop so I'm maskless, Heinous darkness the decay of the self, curse to sit in ruins alone like some dark elf."

GPT's Poem:
Guilt has nailed me to the throne,
In the court of wails and moans.
Bound by chains, unseen yet felt,
In the shadows, silently, I've dwelt.

Gift me a breath, fresh and free,
An escape imagined, if freakishly.
The weight of Atlas, my soul's attire,
A burden cloaked in hidden fire.

No mask to hide, no respite found,
In the market of life, I am bound.
Heinous darkness, decay of self,
A curse whispered with stealth.

Sitting in ruins, like a dark elf alone,
Amongst the echoes of stone.
A throne of guilt, a crown of thorn,
In the kingdom of the forlorn.

Yet in this pain, a spark of light,
A hope that cuts through the night.
For even Atlas, with the world on his back,
Found moments of peace in the endless black.