she's not good with faceless skies
she hungers for colours
the way that the vulture hungers
for human flesh;
the cruelty of nature/nurture,
morality all shot to hell.

when the rain falls, she bloats
lead drop heavy like an overripe fruit
like schadenfreude hot on the heels of a tragedy
rages and swipes dull nails
like an animal cornered
air tanging with cyanide,
sarin silent.

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