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     By Lauren Breen

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You slam your fists on each side of me
before you enshroud me with your arms.
And we rest, crying, raw.
I feel your chest hair on my skin,
both of us damp with sweat.
A dirty blonde spider crawls out
from behind the bed.
Plucking it from the wall by its back leg,
you dangle it over my face.
I bat it away and turn to press my face
into that spot between your chest and neck.
After pushing me onto my back,
you look down on me with eight glazed eyes
which frame a reflection of my body.
My bones are pushing against my skin
so much more than they were before I met you.
Your fangs pierce my flesh.
Your bristled legs hook around me.
The uyielding fangs puncture my body
and I am quiet while you feast.


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