Preparation

The mental battle is half the fight.

You sneak poison in my drink,
hoping to kill me off with ease.
Little do you know,
this poison fortifies me.
That’s it?
You fool.
This does absolutely nothing.
But add to my glee.

Is that a dagger behind your back I see?
Here,
come at me.
Open and clean.
I’m just sitting,
waiting patiently.
Promise.
My blood will sear,
right through,
your precious paper skin.
So effortlessly.

Pain is nothing.
I’ll mourn when I’m dead.

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