Warriors and Tacticians

February 1, 2014
There are clouds in my head
That cover any sense
In a thin veil of white,
But my ribs are made of daggers
That peek though thick skin
And constantly try to bite;
And I guess that's why every
Soldier needs a strategist,
And why I feel like I might.
And I know that you don't think it,
But you are a blinding light.

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