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Her Blood-Caked Knife.

rewiiired

Bluelighter
Joined
Jan 20, 2002
Messages
1,802
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Chair.
Hunt him down,
creeping like a patient predator
just to look in his eyes,
just to see him avert his gaze.

Follow him just to see him
turn and run away
just to prove to yourself
you can instill the fear,
that you aren't afraid yourself.

Thrill of the challenge,
the high off confrontation.
Your delight in your daring:

what bloody, morbid irony.

Another surge of power
to feed your sense of control,

yet all the while you just
echo your enemies,
apparently blind
to your own hypocrisy.

Oh, its just an act
of therapy to turn the tables.
It is your privilege, yours alone,
to play the role of the justified.

Victimhood:
your position to defend,
defining the victimizers
just as the true ones chose
their own victims,

always making certain
they bear the guilt
you feel they're obliged to

by inheritance
or their own hand,
it makes no difference to you.

And now you turn
the blood-caked knife
towards me.

Another shot
of morbid irony.
 
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