this foreign world, with her dramatic posers and diverse faces,
has become familiar.
the streets are a chaos my feet can trace.
the heart beating of this city is loud,
heavy, and diseased.
i can feel her blood, pumping.
there is a lake in the middle,
between the shards of glass and metal
scarlet waters, salty and thick, rising and narrowing;
shadowing the chaos
she flails, drowning, drinking the blood that drowns her
stomach of an empty black hole.
another blood splits through her. darker, richer, more scarlet.
a nourished blood that rivers into my veins.
a blood she doesn't want. refuses to taste.
a blood, savagely rejected.
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