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I want to tell you a story.

But the words are dangerous and may draw blood.
They come sharp, and sometimes come in hollow points.
They are piercing.
Always seeking darkness.

To tell you the story opens wounds.

Because the words no longer cauterize.
They tear flesh and sometimes bone.
They cannibalize the heart.
Always seeking sacrifice.

I want to tell you my story.

But it’s difficult to bleed you.
Difficult to watch your essence drain.
Each breath you take leaving you.
As I spit truth upon the altar.

© zaji, 2016