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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