A poem is a double edged sword
So I try my best to wield mine well
And not unsheathe it in reckless rage
Because these words that I write
They cannot kill who I really am
They cannot spill my warm blood
But they quench my soul sometimes
And sometimes they set my veins on fire
They do kill me a little sometimes
And sometimes they kill me a little bit more
So I smile with each slashed scar
Imprinted on the walls inside of my heart
And some day I will set like the orange sun
Beyond the horizon as it is deep down in me
Silently
KJš°šŖ

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