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The Fight
August 18, 2014
Told my poets to get their ink drenched swords ready, swinging and slicing. We spilt the blood from the goblet on to the canvas. To many memories to contain, the canvas caught fire and it spread throughout the kingdom. I've murdered every possible word I could get ahold of. So I've been outcasted, sent on my way with just a few rocks in my pockets and at the very bottom sits my soul, on a string in the shape of a key. It is the key to everything.
© Brittany C., Washington, PA
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