Cursed

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Cursed:

by: Spencer DiSparti

A Hunter’s moon runs cold with blood,

Dripping like a severed heart.

I stare into its crimson face

Praying to find the crown

Of my humanity once again.

The fleeting wings of Time,

Never calm my restive soul.

Must I be enslaved to this wretched life

A ghost that can never see the sun rise?

I covet their inevitable demise,

Burying my fangs into their supple flesh.

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