the sword drawn to the chin
lick off all teh blood
temptation back again
couldn't find a gun
still no answer sweeter
then the bitterest of the low
thieving, killing, lying no
much worse exists in torment
the brain a cage so thick
make a person twisted enough
they don't even know they're sick
even when the clouds clear
the rain it feels still pours
till the bottom runs the top through
Like a knife drawn in war.
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titles arn't my thing
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