Lashing at the leeches
all tattered and torn
Ripping at the horns
that are no longer worn
deep impulses reckon to
gather your soul
taking you into darkness
where nothing will hold
scrape up all the drippings
so no one is wiser
bewildered lights burn out
for gauntly disguises
these masks of delight
some with twisted terror
the flavors never cease
where imagination flows
2010 - Meeka
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