Click
         Clack
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The butterfly knife handle is smooth against my palm,
Worn down through years of ownership and use.

Click
                 Clack
         Click
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Curtis Stirgers is telling me the story of Poor Ol' John,
My mind is at peace,
And my thoughts are clear.

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I can see the flashes of steel,
Sending off glints of light out in the darkened room,
I'm mostly zoned out,
A quasi-zen state in this dance of blade and flesh,
A Balisong Ballet.


Click
         Clack
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