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Bb Maria Klara Dec 2014
I refuse to sink;
I refuse to falter;
I defy to blink,
In reality unaltered.

I refuse to fall;
I refuse to crumble;
I will stand tall
Right after I stumble.

I refuse to fail;
I refuse to not win;
I will myself hail,
whatever I have been.

I refuse to in give;
I refuse to let die;
I am to live
With all that I try.

I refuse to dim;
I refuse to go do gown;
I will be the steam
That powers this town.

I refuse to flee;
I refuse to abort;
I, one day, will see
my vengeance retort.

I refuse to sit;
I refuse to fall flat;
I will the top hit
and become all that.

I refuse to fold;
I refuse to blunder;
I shall one day hold
For what I one wandered.

I refuse to sink;
I refuse to falter.
I know what I think:
My future I'll alter.
Written September 12, 2014
It is highly repetitive, but I suppose it was the best motivating way to go about not giving up.
Bb Maria Klara Dec 2014
I said "I've had enough", you didn't hear me.
Right now, it's too late. It's too late for you clearly.
No life is left for you, and I've got no rue,
There's no way I'll ever feel blueful for you.

You have bones that crushed, some were just broken.
The sound of neck snapping? It is truly golden.
Blood that was dried up, and blood that was dripping.
Oh my my my, I was not even tripping.

Your skin would make a mighty mighty fine gown.
After all this time of you putting me down.
I do want to **** you, no questions asked.
Let me have my moment of brutal bloodbath.

I think your teeth would make fine accessory.
Again, no, I will not be ever be sorry.
I'll stop when there is no more fluid in you:
Saliva, blood, sweat and maybe *** too.

Now this seems unlikely of someone my age.
Yet maybe you weren't warned of what fits my rage.
And maybe, just maybe, it is your own fault,
For flaunting too much until I've lost my gall.

Perhaps I will tear you, your sad flesh apart.
Watch 'til it stops in my hand, your beating heart.
You and I both human, I wish to live longer.
I wonder if you look pretty hanging from the rafter.

Ending you swiftly won't be all that fun.
Slicing you with knife or shooting with gun.
Maybe I'll make art, creative, intricate.
Maybe you got no guard up, check and mate.

And this question lies: Where my sweetness went?
Well I'll say this is the furore years spent.
Let me bite my lip, appease bloodlust call.
I present my masterpiece: ****** in the hall.
November 5, 2014
Written to quench vengeful thirst, was on a whim. My need to write it came to making up words and vulgarity. My apologies

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