English 425

In the days fleeting,

Drawing closer to the end,

I am empty and destroyed.

Battered and broken from

Battle after battle, I'm left

With paper cuts; lemon-soaked,

Salt-scrubbed paper cuts.

That have left me with

No pride left to think of.

But on an on I still write--

The pen my strongest sword.

A sharpened blade that behooves me,

Drags my thoughts through the ground;

I'm not sure I'll die victorious.