printing faces onto scrapes

what does it say of me
if i fall and i bleed
and i don't get up?

i would prefer to not
be called a coward,
but some things are unavoidable.

so i cough out my lungs
and my heart and my soul,
and i hope with all that's left of my mind.

for my brain that i used to love
is now torn and shredded
and left to the ravens to pick at.
for i am more than i was. 

ravens can be seen as 
people, or ideas,
they are subjective 
blank canvases. 

and when she opens her mouth,
nothing is safe from the barrage of information
including my identity. 

sacredness is debatable,
even in the best of times, 
and yet even a church
is not safe from times of war. 

The End

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