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Whispers

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A silent echo
locked in a veiled shaft.
Watching, waiting,
a cobra poised to strike
with an unsettling hunger.

The victim strangled
in her own
sweet,
unrelenting reverie.

Her carcass,
stiff with the morning dew
and illuminated by the reflecting colors of dawn.

It slithered back to misery,
more superior than ever.
Waiting,
to strike again,
this time for the marauder.




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