Reaching for his arm, patched-up stripped sleeve.
Steel spirals shine from their vests.
This is madness. Pure darkness.
Burning death-flies and contorted flesh.
Looking from the line, they mumbled.
Streams of steam tumble.
Drifting from our gums...
A wish for the clouds; pure harsh rain.
I am the mixed menace.
I am the half-bred whore.
They didn’t ask for anything but our mothers forest floor.
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