POEMS

The hanging

I’m not sorry and I don’t need your pity. Save it for the next, hangman committee. My hands are tied with barbwire. I think they heard that armor is my chosen attire. This may be the last you see of me. But deep in your minds and souls, lies my legacy. A fear that you will never extract. Embedded lies that I told that I can never take back. So before you hang me let my words be my stinger. You may kill me today, but my past will always linger.

*Just something my mind generated this morning. Purely fictional*

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