The Survivor

The Survivor

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I remember:
the initial throe
and the horror
changed into loathing
for them and the system
that is talked of and never seen
and then for my flesh
that remained jerking
with each stroke.

One by one,
having kept aside his black terror,
his vainglorious rigidity,
and repeated the ritual,
till it was over done.

Then I was strangled
and left
a dead abomination.
And now
the bastards
are dead,
each bearing volleys of bullets
in his hirsute chest.

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