He swims in water
poisoned in the wells
caught in the pincers
of something else
sang songs of future lives
breathe in the fear
to delight in my eyes
before i defile my ears
my soul is ill at ease
it troubles me to say
what exactly...
the irony lies in a question
of morale not morality
this time is fleeting for
mere falsehoods
from which to choose.
for what i lose is not equal to love
truely the burning dove.
thunder broken
when my anger burns
brightly
this bitterness is not a gift....
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