| With darkness as his only father.
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| No echoes of his first cry.
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| Recycled breath as the only air.
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| Buried alive inside a corpse.
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| Locked in his predecessor.
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| Inside a tomb, licking the blood from a withered womb.
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| The deepest spot in the potter’s field, inside the closest coffin to hell.
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| Inhuman creation.
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| Entrapped by nails.
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| Unaware of time or emotions, an unsouled being, a mistake growing underground.
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| Unmentioned in the headstone.
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| Against gods will.
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| Against gods will.
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| Found his way out the crypt, carving with bare hands at the ground.
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| Eats his kind to survive, eats his kind to survive.
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| Found his way out the crypt, leaving her carcass behind.
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| Eats his kind to survive, eats his kind to survive.
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| Life from death lives through the dead, through human meat, and bone and flesh.
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| Now she’s gone, no corpse left.
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| So he seeks to eat another whore.
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| He still remembers when he threw her up, an upsurge of organs, nerves,
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| and that spate of love regurgitating her heart.
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| The graveyard is his larder, his hideout, his unholy home.
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| Ossuary infested by worms, full of limbs, spines, torsos and hundreds of skulls.
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| Walks among the living, missing the warmth of her ribs.
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| Missing the black of her eyes, the black of her all, the taste of her guts.
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| Eats his kind to survive, eats his kind to survive.
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| Life from death lives through the dead, through human meat, and bone and flesh. |