Boiling streams of shocking, crimson gore
Lap against the skin-and-tissue shores.
Oily scabs peeled back like ransacked drawers,
Opened harshly, ripped apart by war.
Dizzily, I watch his carcass pour
Scarlet liquid out upon the floor.
Hollow eyes stare blankly evermore.
Early mourning dawns as buzzards soar;
Death has won. I can fight no more.

The End

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