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BloodshedBlood on the waterBlood on the sandBlood in my hairBlood on my handsI wanted to helpI could've helpedI just didn'tNow,Innocent blood is spiltand I'm just as guiltyas the one charged with murder
Art of PoetryA poem is a poemno matter how youword itwrite itor phrase itall in oneone is allevery single wordsongand sentenceis a poemin its own wayits own writesome say differentwhile I say this:not all poems must rhymeor in one way coincideEvery truthhistorystoryor sentenced lineis an arta beautiful poemby and by
Angelic DemonBehind deep emeraldsI can seeThe clarity of your soulUnderneath translucence glowI can hearThe rhythm of your gentle heartThrough those glossy locksI can smellThat sweet perfume you wearYour an angelSoft to the touchand pleasing to the eyesA beacon to lovesick mortal soulsYet your not an angelyour a demonFrozen to the coreyou prick and breakthe hearts of mortal menand thrive on the split heartsof soft-hearted womenBehind those pearlsI can seeThe fangs you grimaceUnderneath that velvet touchI can feelThe ice within your heartThrough a truthful eyeI knowYour the heartbreakThe melancholyThat everyone fearsbut never sees