A wealth of words inside me
begging for release
Yet when I grant their freedom
their numbers just increase
They slip away angelically
or as hatefully as sin
Branding those they touch
as my enemy or friend
Encasing power to tear down
and to also build
They are my sword of choice
One I often wield
The reason for a broken heart
or for love to begin
Words will surely be my making
or my breaking in the end
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