February 21, 2009
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It comes and it goes.
No one knows.
A harness of emotion
cannot capture this
tyrant lion. It prowles and growles and hunts
its shaky prey. One
swift lunge and the fangs
have punctured the jugular.
Death tastes bad. The lion
nuzzles death and
feasts like a king.
Satisfied, no. The thirst
for blood blurrs reason.
The beast has eaten,
so the raw hunger receeds
one step back. The dinner,
once alive and breathing,
has been crushed by
a ruthless hunger that
feasts upon my mind.

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