February 11, 2011
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Scratch. Scratch.
Itch. Itch.
The moon bleeds through the window.
Tenderness expands like the wind.
A flash of winter runs through your body lingering in your fingers and toes.
A fever hatches and sight begins to blur.
The wounds tear transforming into blemishes.
Now clawing at your skin the rash spreads.
Veins are leaking making complexion appear colorless.
Bang. Lighting. Thunder.
Suddenly frozen in time your body hits the ground.
And at last your heartbeats no longer.
As if an addict you refused my antidote.
For what remains is Fear's victory.

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