The Cut

By , Fort Drum, NY
With every drop spilled,
Another tear is willed,
Through my eyes,
To your heart,
But I know it's dark,
I only wished you could see...

Pain is a grace,
A grace given by God,
So why does it kill,
Isn't that odd?

Every streak of crimson,
From out the broken skin,
Kills me inside,
Leaves me to die,
I know where you are is dark,
But you can still win for your heart...

I know why you did,
I would have too,
But a promise we made,
One death becomes two,
And two becomes three,
And three becomes many...

With every stain of crimson,
Streaked from inside your heart's prison,
My death is arisen,
Just please.... Listen....





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