A spectre in her countenance, Eyes fixated on a lover, Of the past. A miscreant Who only saw the immediate. It was he that became destabilized, Wants and needs undistinguished and laid out on the table. It was he who howled at the moon, A lone wolf who always came home hungry. Sometimes, men let their appetite Feel like starvation, Become slaves To their worst instincts. It is he who now sits Amongst friends, Amongst those unknowing Of crimes too dangerous To be revealed. It is not just the past That haunts her.
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