By Keung Vanh

Innocents at play, until life at stake
death came knocking, and almost collected
only to be saved, by a black silhouette
given a new life, by the two face gavel
a new life, too unworthy
for a life taken, and a life given
a token is certain, but not concrete
for no blood on my hands, but my shoulders cakes of crimson paint
years I intend to give, years I’m willing to offer
for wrinkles shall be pure, for death shall be pleasant


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