Soul/Life Giver

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Metal

Hanging in the air so thick one could taste it.

Puddles and smears;

Markings, like warrior paint, across all.

Warmth emanating yet also cold to the touch.

Pounding in the ears,

Screaming to be let out.

Yet it should not.

Soul and life giver; it should not go to waste,

yet in this case it does --

For fighting to the death is a must.

Thriving off of taking it but never wanting to give it.

That is how life is.

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