May 6, 2018
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You are the full moon that has freed me

to rip with claws of hopes rotten

and rend with fangs of passion corrupted.


I roam the country looking to create victims

with ribs split apart

and intestines slashed to ribbons

and jugulars popped like cherries

and hearts dripping blood instead of love in my mouth

(tastes like chicken).


Once an empty husk is all that remains,

I slip inside the skin of the (un)luckiest person in the world,

pretending he is You.

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