an attempt at poetry

chapter four: 'betrayal'

Betrayal,

The word itself mocks a blade,

Though it most likely draws more blood,

Given that you've been played,

A sword is merely an instrument,

Whilst treachery is the musician,

I'll shake my head and walk away,

Wrestling the need to reveal what they'd done,

For only my core will hold the burden, 

Until the fire of a gun,

But my mind will for eternity, 

Host the burns from the fire,

Reminders of the turbulent debate,

That took place between adept liars,

For its not the first time this body secures such a blow,

The walls are thick enough to echo the voices, though.