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"Fuck You Diary These Fists Have A Bodycount"
These fists laced with velvet veins,
I puked my heart out into this red cup,
My blood spelled out your name with these stains,
I nailed you into this coffin shut,
But somehow you persist with vindication,
So I kick your ribcage in like a stray mutt,
This wasteland is what I call my nation,
The air is maroon and warm,
My mind filled with ink could do more harm.
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