how strange it is, that in my head
are all the things i could have said,
were i not filled with hate and dread
and bitter jaded fire.
how heavy now, the words i chose,
left steeping in a false repose
where every broken body stows
the brittlest desire.
how hardened, 'til a heart can't break?
the burden of a stubborn ache -
i'll swear on it, for honor's sake:
we both know i'm a liar.
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