The jungle

Blood stained shirt.
Sheets of a similar shade.
Taste of copper and blood in my mouth.
I lost my friend to four wolves,
He lost himself to rage,
A red hot burning summer out of his lungs.

In death there is always sorrow.
In loss; pain.
In love; a lesson.

His blood stained the floor.
The guilt stains me.

Why has rage abandoned me and accepted him?

Where is my inner star, with her infinite burn?

My sun has set, and my shining shimmering anger is a baby in her crib.

Apathy was the victor,

Friendship a victim.

Three standing wolves over a sad clown, eating his corpse, one wolf licking his wounds.


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