Cecil

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Slow slink black streaked mane

The smell of blood, I can’t resist

Pain enters and racks me I try to hide

Two moons

When the crack sounds I am almost grateful

I saw this once in the ache of the sun My skin being stripped away

My head severed 

Someone dancing slowly with great, bleeding cats

Smiling I liked him? 

“He liked people,” someone says

I did not

But it seemed like a game they called me good

Just before I swallowed the jagged sky above the 

SAFE line and persisted

Until every screaming star went down.

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