The voices of the ones that we despise,
Thoughts forced into words then carelessly thrown,
The heated tension and the tones that rise,
Are easier to hear than to be known.
A dispute is like a war of the word
And the arrow aimed for me is deathly.
The pain, the gut wrenching feeling all blurred
With my own arrow aimed for them to see.
Regret begins to settle in my mind,
Dark thoughts layered over one another,
The burden on my shoulders makes me blind,
And my crushed, gnarled soul cannot recover.
The moment at the end is full of shame,
But there is never someone else to blame.
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