Words carved with a stiletto point,
cutting deep into my brain,
a well forged weapon
searing straight to the heart.
Captured, captive, they shackle
me with manacles of lines,
each a link in the chain
binding me upon the rack.
Tortured with a message
that sears, a red hot poker
branding, cauterizing my soul,
then sword sharp they run me
through with an ironic twist.
A dagger thrust with poisoned ink
finishes my heart’s last beat,
murdered, the weapon – your pen.
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