bloody

For you, I would do it afraid;
I always thought you were brave.
You surrendered to cowardice,
And now you are powerless.
I gained consciousness,
In my obnoxiousness.
Crumbled in a deep remorse.
Did I even make it worse?
The long-awaited outcome
Will shove you down into the ground,
Right to prosaic mould.
Indeed, long story’s truly short,
As old as prudent filthy world.

And poetry will save the two of us.
Long live the art of bloody canvas.


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