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The Heart is a Weapon

There is a constant flow of foolish acts that love commands
But such is to be expected of those who are blind
The tears and breaks one repeatedly withstands
Is a price so quickly fogged from the mind
Of all the torture and agony it routinely demands
It Is lovingly given and then shared in kind
Consider, the heart is a WEAPON in the wrong hands
With instructions and a manual that no one understands

I write little escapes for myself and otters, I mean others, maybe both.
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