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Embalmed in rotting utterance

I, as flesh, invoke

The most pointed anguish

Poured on the Earth — ravaged by blood.

Shrouded in myrrh and sage

I, as mind, have vision

of spectres with voices like war cries,

condemned to groaning sleep.

Crowned in floral vice

I, as spirit, burn alive

And see your form — reflection of my own:

Both alike. Both perverse.