My Words

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My words used to be my weaponWhen my fists failed memy pen was a knife

My words used to be my castleSomewhere I could retreat towhen I needed solace

My wordsused to bring lifeTelling takes of beautiful thingsspreading peace

But words change

Now,My words tell the storyof a gruesome death of a tortured soulAnd my pen is a shoveland it is digging my grave(e.b)

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