This pen is like blood

January 14, 2008
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This pen is like blood,
Ink provided by him,
By a thought and a memory?
Or out of guilt and duty?
The bloods stains these pages,
His notes rot in my drawer,
His memories lay with discust,
sinking in my gut,
We learn in life
no one is pure,
And blood is filthy running though the body of love

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