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dearest to my ever slowing heart of bright blood,
for the wounds start flowing the tight flood,
scales reflect the images shooting through,
but they neglect the light from you,
sliding past faster than the eye can keep in focus,
as whipping around the magic is just hokus pokus,
teaching the wisdom through the eyes and ears,
for centuries and decades through all years,
rocks melted by the boiling heat into metal things,
as the stabbing pain of the knife constantly stings,
slicing down the sore back along the spine,
cutting into the nerves in a straight line,
now the blood flows from the wounds splattering on the ground,
as the heart slows in a struggling beat of sound,
eyes fade to the blackness they came from first,
the end comes but that is not the worst.