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That Very Night
That very night, I died.
I don’t know if it was murder or a mistake.
A sharp blade struck from behind — straight through my heart.
I fell into a pool of my own blood.
My skull was crushed.
And I was dead. Very dead.
But I could still feel you, faintly,
Tearing my skin like you’d strip bed sheets.
You wore it like clothing.
You devoured my flesh and organs.
You drank my blood.
You shattered my bones
And wore the fragments like your finest jewellery.
Then, you fled.
Everyone thought I had vanished.
But you know better.
You ate my flesh, and now it grows within your own.
You drank my blood, and it runs in your veins.
You wore my skin, and it fused with yours.
My bones rooted inside you, growing through your flesh.
I am your shadow.
You carry me,
From the night you killed me.
That very night, I killed someone.
It happened so fast I still don’t know if it was a mistake.
The blade went all the way through in his body — before I even realized.
I saw him fall in his own blood.
His skull crushed.
He was dead. Very dead.
I panicked.
So I ripped his skin.
I made it into clothing.
I swallowed his flesh and organs.
I drank his blood.
I cracked his bones
And carried the shards with me.
Then I ran.
No one knows where he went.
But I know.
I ate his flesh, now it is mine.
I drank his blood, now it flows in me.
I wore his skin, it is now my second skin.
His bones pierced into me and fused deep inside.
He is my shadow.
I bear his life within me,
From the night I ended his.