They thought I would be an easy kill;
break my bones, leave me for dead,
let time do the rest,
and I’d become one more of their hunting tales.
When I stood back up,
they went into hiding, mistook escape for safe passage.
They thought this was a hiccup they were over with.
They’re about to realise it was harakiri.
It won’t end in death; death is mercy.
It’ll end with them
becoming a story nobody remembers telling.
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