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Seething in Your lie

Sleep with a gun
Wake up shooting
Art is the picture painted
The tongue is your brush
So quit dipping it in lies
And say what you mean

Buried underground
Finally a defense,
You’ll never hear a sound,
Against your ignorance

The wet sand sucked you under
But you’d already buried yourself,
Beneath six feet of inherited hate

-Sorry?

Check mate
We're done
Too little, much too late



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