Her
hands are tied.
Head
up, eyes open.
Bites
what
they
tell her to bite.
Poor
girl, pretty thing
with
the wild eyes
and
the tanned skin.
Her
armour shifting
slick
as a fish.
Bright
as a blade.
The
unnatural moon
sits
high and strange
beside
the sun.
We
turn from the girl,
drenched
in sweat,
going
up in flames.
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