The dead body is stricken stiff,
The dark like the womb is warm,
Gaze greedily upon the slender form.
The left hand is shrouded in shadow,
The solitude like despair is crushing,
The bright face is not even blushing.
The man is kneeling before an obscene
shrine,
The lifeblood is slipping through his
fingers,
The emptiness returns now to linger.
The secret is kept deep inside,
He is preparing his own hell,
Retreating deeper within his used up
shell.
The hunger bites back,
The desire cannot be satisfied,
His mind cannot be fortified.
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