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A friend and aged flame,
came to me with burnt words,
A wooden heart, an honest split,
"Complications"
(my god, what an absolute anchor
of a word),
I piped in sympathy as any friend would,
Rolled out concern
as any normal human should,

But...

There is a place where many
serpents lie, hidden, protected,
coiled around a tender brain stem,
And from this dark recess,
Came possession, nothing less,
Hands clenched, I squeeze,
No hesitation, but not fast enough,
To stop these words being etched
Into grey and written in my spine:

"Good. Now she's mine."

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