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McCaslin Mar 2010
The flesh hungers for Vengeance.
Beneath, blood runs hot,
Blood lust rising
Barely contained.
Black whispers with
Silver tongues
Caress fresh wounds
With shadow tendrils.
Dark wings, dark words,
Fire is fueled as
Gilded shackles constrain.
Chafed wrists bleed with
Fresh Vigor.
The Blood is the life,
Falls wearily to the floor.
Hot crimson stark
Against the unforgiving stone.
Rage fades to agony.
The weight of despair,
Crushing.
Strength of the Hammer,
Phoenix Rising,
Come What May...

— The End —