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Civil war

With the tip of my fountain pen

Bending into this blank page,

There was a churning bottomless resentment,

Which then spurred into rage.

Ink splats like a shot wound,

Tore through my ribcage.

Arrows plunged through my back,

As he catapulted yet another lie.

Was I ready for another battle?

Well, I just let out a sigh.

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