The Art Of War

You were like a concurring army, and the lines of the page were my defenses…Each one slowly fell, under the assault of your prose,

I emptied countless chambers of ink, firing on your position of stubborn pride…But you held the high ground, and I was too eager to loose,

I’m a heedless poet, with a wild heart, but apparently inept at the art of war…Eagerly bleeding on my notebooks, waving a white flag.

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