Who do we blame if not ourselves, for parts of us we try to kill. Where is the fault in the fear if it keeps us here. I break my teeth on love, and wonder what I was afraid of. I sing a song in my sleep, and wait for the echo. And in time, my voice will die, but the echo survives. Drag me into a grave, and see that I am still asleep. What is left to mark a life, spent so tangled up in time. Who do I blame if not myself, for parts of me I want to kill. An eternity echoing. Undo everything. This tension born in me has learned to speak. “Fear not of man, for man must die”. And while you drag me straight into my grave, see, I am waking up.
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