I can see your mutilated rot rise

from the wounds of the past.

Your sickness is spreading

like a dark, thunderous cloud,

pouring acid rain over parched, winter land.

Metallic taste in your mouth,

you search for the predator

that preyed upon you.

Hungry like a sick-starved lion,

stalking its next meal,

they have forsaken you,

fractured you,

and now they must face you,

for you have returned,

more disturbed than before,

ready to take on the world

and devour those who have trampled you,

troubled you and now must have a taste of you.


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