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Circling

 

I can feel the pain drawing the pulse out.
That serves me, once again.


skin tacky, gouged blade snarl


Right here, now, who inherits this spot?
What your hands hold won't help.


slithered leather, welts hiss


This is where mercy died. The fire failed,
but I will not.


fresh red runs over dried black...









Written by Atakti
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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