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My home was black as any bible

if I remember rightly; 

I was an anglerfish, 

I ate my prey whole and I lived without the sun.

For a time, if memory serves,

I was moss to a barefoot boy,

a gypsy moth, beating at the window.

I was Napoleon

before Josephine came along,

I was a satin-clad gun moll

blowing smoke in good guy's faces,

and the orchid of your eye, as I recall.

I was a thief who stole your pain,

I was the child you never named,

the poison, that stays inside your bones.

I was a stop on your way home

if I remember rightly;

I was a bottle of pretty pills,

as I recall.

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