Wounded

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Archaic behavior stumbles me forward.....





Through tourniquet bleeding, and refuge screaming....





I trust you, beyond my deep and zealous lord.....





.. ..





Foresee my own being....





Warning me through struggle....





I want to see what kept my at a scream....





Give me my tears to smuggle....





.. ..





Sobriety eyes tell you about a storm....





Dilating drums pace at my heart....





But the story of the embrace kept me warm....





The hindering storm, the gust of art....





.. ..





Society bleeds from the wound....





The tourniquet falls, healing trembles....





But the seeded filth remains in her womb....





The matured scabs are none to loose.....





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