The whip, a striking adder.
The fist, a raging bull.
Thorns sleep in our feet.
Grass slices our cheeks.
Sun scorches our heads.
Frost sears our toes.
Deliver us.
All I had, I gave
My chin presses wearily into my chest, The weight of my head to heavy to hold. The sword in my hand slides slowly to rest, Against my limp ...
this one like *wipes tears away*
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