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Fault
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Dark Poetry Bite the bullet.
Pull the trigger.
Copper flow.
Tastes of glass,
shattering clean.
Red lips,
moist with blood.
It’s all your fault.
Bite the bullet.
Pull the trigger.
Copper flow.
Tastes of glass,
shattering clean.
Red lips,
moist with blood.
It’s all your fault.
