Falling On The Swords Of Other People
Falling, not on my blade,
but theirs,
a wound that’s borrowed,
never healed,
a cut that’s by those I shared.
I die a thousand cuts by hands, I never held,
beneath a sky of broken pride,
where the ghosts of others
bled,
but never cried.
Copyright © James Mclain | Year Posted 2024
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