The makings of an exterior marksman;
leaving bruises and bites, blood dripping,
frailly contained.
And this is not what I would want to
call progress!
To make me silent will take a lot more.
You would have to dismember every limb
from the context of my strongest mind.
Let alone the muscles that adorn my bones
to come and raid me of my peace of mind.
I will not let a commonality of the
same air we breathe to allow you
to enter me, and your words will not shake
me until I allow you to.
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