2011-14
It's not the slick wet of blood-It's the bite of the blade finishing what the bullet began.
It's not the air, laden heavy with copper-
It's the bitter tang of adrenaline coating the tongue.
It's not the warmth lingering, reluctant to leave-
It's the sharp intake of the soul that says,
yes, oh yes,
this was necessary.
Poetry by Minhocao
Read 520 times
Written on 2011-07-09 at 19:35
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