for all the murdered souls

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fade;
from memory, from life
under the blade of a blunt knife
silence engulfs the scarlet dripping,
slipping,
your hands gripping
for a little bit
of hope

fade;
from the unseeing eyes,
from the truth of the lies,
heartless hearts, faking cries:
you know, you know,
the only thing they'll do for you
is throw flowers at a grave you didn't deserve.

-- s.m.

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