Tints of Red
At war with myself
Only one will win
Whether from loss of will
Or loss of wit.
I'll confront myself in the field
With the haze of a new day; my shield
The coming of the light; I wield
Slashes through the night I fight
With my mind; I kill this kind
Of negative thought which plagues my brain
And I'll take the blood from half
My mind from which it's bled
And paint the doors of my soul
With tints of red
Copyright © Jacob Fite | Year Posted 2015
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