More Bad Poetry

This world does not need more bad poetry. Do not share with me, your superlative mediocrity. 
Bring me, your bladed pen, wielding pain and passions. Slaughter me. Rake me in fire and scald the flesh from my bones. Freeze me within the torture of your mind, where your brain fuses to a quiver filled with poisoned tips, all seeking my throat and heart. Entrust me with whispering and lost echoes, let me dangle perilously, uncertain, that breath still inhabits my lungs, if blood, still ribbons my veins.

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