Pen Knives

As scorpions that sting the venom of pain into the bloodstream of our faith.

As serpents that choke the will to succeed out of the fragile bones of our being.

As vultures that devour the carcass of our deferred dreams with gusty cackles.

As hawks that swoop down and steal the little chicks of our progress.

As fire that deflowers the virginity of our peace of mind.

As pen knives that consistently stab in neat holes of succeeding helplessness.

We drown in the day and drain in the night, awaiting our final call to bounteous perdition.

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