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Mar 2013
Reaching for a soul
That does not exist
Cold bony fingertips
Grasping my throat
Squeezing with so much might
Not expected from a bony mass
Covered in tattered robes
Of dark silken fibers
A scythe held tight in her right hand
Her left hand still at my neck
Quick to strangle me
Like the nuse in my garage
The hands of death
I clasp with my hand
Hold it tightly
Her blank cold stare
Showing a sense of wonder
As I tell her I love her
She releases me
My throat sore
But the pain is masked
I reach for the hands of death
Look into the eyes
Of a thousand souls
I see my own
As I pull her close to me
I want to forever walk beside her
I have never been wanted
The way she wants me
The way she desires my heart and nonexistent soul
Hands of death
I called out to
Wrapped myself in
And peacefully walked beside her
Hand in hand
Till the death of death
Shall we ever consider parting
Robert Guerrero
Written by
Robert Guerrero
687
   Mystery Girl
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