Stitches And Scalpels

Fast, the one that burns the forest straight to the ground…

Last, the one that gets to be king, wear the crown…

Hiding, here talents squared and silently laid to rest…

Biding, time in daydreams/nightmares or just a jest?

 

Wandering, here where I am alone and afraid…

Pondering, where I was when this was made…

Uneducated, in the ways of the Human unkind…

Annunciated, all the pain, said fuck pride…

 

And yet dreams still spit, lovely dark hope I want to try.

Yet I split, reach out, cut down, then we ask why?

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