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(Source: raised-from-the-grave)
I walk quickly this night
from who lurks out of sight.
The wind gives a whistle and a sigh
as strands of my hair begin to fly.
The moon hides its face.
I pick up my pace.
Shadows surround me.
Footsteps behind me.
Hands around my neck.
Is that a love peck?
He is taking my blood.
I die in a red flood.
THE DEAD GAME
