tonight you're dead.
mourning and I was expecting this for some time.
is curious as I know of your departure.
I was convinced, that you would die this time too.
and every time you die you take away a bit.
your hook sharp clings to my flesh.
a torn piece of skin until it sells.
the flesh is torn at first, then fills
of purple blood.
a blood sweet nectar for the language.
tonight you died and you left a piece of skin
useless. a piece of useless flesh, drips from which
unnecessary blood.
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