Oh how the saying makes me sick
And excuses, there are not
Devicive taunting, hate mimic
Once their weaponized from thought.
& So a new turn of phrase, a saying born within the dark;
A whisper to onself alone, a Cypher's scribbled, frantic mark-
For the first and only time, Not of me but you,
These writing's wordings weave a web,
Synthetically medicinal, the dream hopefully blue.

To be spoken to oneself, read, written or thought,
Of each word that's now misused, as the battle's fight is fought.
examined, explained, investigated my life
As if speech were the blade, language the knife