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I throw myself at every blade I happen to encounter,

Hoping that I will not bleed if I do not falter.

These steels and irons you all carry have sharp points.

I am not the fragile kind, but cracks are spreading through my joints.

Who are you to judge if you are carrying a weapon?

My heart is clear, I never watch where I am stepping.

You and your shiny metal toys keep my throat aching,

And the city echoes that I never really needed saving.

Still, I approach each pointed sword like a dying flower

While you all chant, saying that the light must be devoured.

I do not pity you, but I feel sorry for the things you break.

One step closer and I will unleash this red hurricane.

-Jackie