my poison pen
has been busy over the past month.
the point as sharp as ever.
if I could write
with both hands
I would.
let the blood spill.
no one gets out without
being wounded by my
hurtful words.
I line them and knock them
down,
one by one.
it's not revenge, or making
myself feel better.
it's just a response to anger
after a year
of being bitten again and
again by wrong doing,
to the point of me becoming
undone.
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