I
He gave a sore wound, like a hell dog of menace. Breaking into brave hearts that fought for upright. Directing fury till all will contracts. An unbroken storm plying cracked skin. The entitled son. MB
II
He hurts often and frequent and strong. Hit and squander as his rhythm elongates. A warm doughy body of uncertain means as the man contracts, ploughed under, he means so many consequences of his fate. And yet there he sits full and bellied in his skin. MB
III
I know him not and yet he would enter. I am helpless but to hang, weak in my own resistance. MB
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