Loathe

Pale and bled was she.
Clenched fists and hair in eyes.
Cold water, not hot.
Have to stop the bleeding
And wind the music box.
We can hold hands
And plunge to our deaths;
An act of defiance
Against the evolving blackness.
The night hides the monsters
Even from those of us with open eyes.
Crawl up next to me.
And scream sweetly in my ear.

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