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Writer's pictureAdrian Woodland

Battle

It was quick. Sharp. Edged like sawn metal.

It scratched. It drew blood.

Dressed as rose petal.


It swelled like oceans. Pulled with tide.

It filled whole lung.

With air to die.


It stung. Stabbed. Twisted against bone.

It cracked. It crunched. Break.

He only lies alone.



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