I gave birth to a demon,
a bad idea that could only get worse.
You cut me with the velocity
in which you fall.
There’s a story here
with missing pages.
A margin that hides a secret.
A tempest without the wind.
You’re vicious and voracious,
like the hem on a model’s dress.
A kin to be a guardian,
of a soldiers last conquest.
M.
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