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Dec 2013
My brush, the sword.
My canvas, the enemy.

I unsheathe my sword and raise it to your throat,
I hold it there for too long, maybe to boast.
Then I swipe across your neck, leaving my mark,
I would feel guilty,
But nobody judges an artist in the park.
Josh Murphy
Written by
Josh Murphy  Dublin
(Dublin)   
526
   Pooja Shah
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