Wicked Heart

And beneath my sooty faceless mask always curving to a half smile, there is an everlasting frown, for I have been sentenced to bear the weight of the world on my shoulders, now, and forever.
Poe and his prose and poetry recoil at the sight of my unpleasing display.
Read and fear.
My poetic tales.
Where end grows near.


4. Knife

You can almost taste the pain in the air
See the blood on my fingers that's still there
As the knife shreds my skin
It's sharper than cheddar, no matter how thin
Bitter tears are still here
It's the knife I love and fear

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