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Jaracaca

de Circle Of Dead Children

Disemboweling all denomination with her penknife one stroke at a time.
Sweet spirits.
As she stares toward the back of her memories she stares through you.
Blows through you like steam screaming through burst piping.
His lips upon her breast.
His tail within infant mouth.
The sacrament has putrified but the vampires have come alive.
Recklessly she gashes yet her guilt will never be severed.

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