Young and wild

I live my life, I barely live
In my hand a deadly weapon
A rope of straw
In the other a cloth of white cotton.

I sing a song then mute for long
Because my voice kills
When urge recurs
To joy myself
My lips are numb and idle

No shoes on feet
No gloves to warn of heat
No hat for rainy days

Days are numbered
Life is crumbled
All I wait for is the day.

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