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Jan 2020
his screaming, dead, grey
cast iron eyes were strong
petrified by conjured up lies
bent over and built with bronze

burnt and glazed
like candle wax upon his own lips
everything grey was turned to
spent silver bullets

all the shell casings dropped into a hot tin
the last remaining platinum lips
the metals that still haunt him
iā€™m a smith of my own demise.
collin
Written by
collin  30/M/coming home.
(30/M/coming home.)   
  82
     Coralium, little lion and Aruna
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