Silver Shrapnel

June 11, 2010
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Cold hard doubt,
The wicked, serrated blade
Hacks through my core;
The blood, like bile
Rising to my throat,
And the sick, silver shrapnel
Encase my heart
In an icy grip with the
Metalic taste of betrayal on my lips,
The bittersweet pleasure
Of a ghost's spiteful kiss
Sending shivers rippling
Across my blue skin,
Setting fear of the unknown
Into the heart of man

And still, I wonder:
What if...?
And still, I fear

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