Revenge
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So mote it be...
Never wish death upon your enemy,
wish that they beg for death.
Drink from silver cups of silence,
haunted by ghosts of breath.
Let their triumphs rot in shadow,
gold turn to sand.
Every crown one of thorns.
every touch a reprimand.
Let mirrors show them what they buried,
let time refuse to heal,
not with fire, but with memory,
may they learn what it means to kneel.
Copyright © Andreanna Escamilla | Year Posted 2025
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