No-one survives such an attack
and we all stood like monuments
baring the nails in her back
in a graceful impression of life
shyly the arms, shyly the breasts
through the heart, through the
as I stare into those strange,
I knew it all the time. The misanthropes
were right to crucify themselves
need of a saviour. Still moving
struggle fearsome with a lifeline
caught in the nest of the impending
Semi-worlds, lifetight lodges
plagued with the frost of disease
like living black numbers
that drip from her pergament skin
fragile and reddened in lifelost
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