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Ridgehead
Barreleye
Bristlemouth
Loosejaw
Daggertooth

The names he was called
The identities he became

Things of that nature run deep
And crush like the depths of the sea
For so long,
I thought something was wrong
with being empty inside.
But I’ve made peace with my emptiness—
a flute only makes music
when its soul is open wide.

— The End —