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Power and conflict poetry
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Shayanne b
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Cards (11)
We
get
sent
out
Probably
armed,
possibly
not.
Well myself
and
somebody
else and
somebody
else
All
of the
same
mind
It
rips
through his
life
-
Pain
itself
, the
image
of
agony.
Tosses
his
guts
back into his
body
End
of
story
, except
not really.
the
drink
and the
drugs
won’t
flush
him
out
-
he’s here
in
my
head
when I
close
my
eyes
His
bloody
life
in
my
bloody
hands