Eighteen hands 

Twenty-eight hundred stone held together under flesh and mangled with bone

A hidden face beneath a woven facade 

Strong and weak 

A broken dichotomy 

I know you, though we’ve never met 

I know your kind – the mold, the stone 

I’ve been inside your cave of hate. 

Watching as she grows near 

The ways you’ll hold her dear

The words you’ll say, the things you’ll do

I can’t help but worry of the roots that will tie her there 

There’s no words to say

No advice to share 

Instead I’ll just watch her as she disappears 

The friend, the girl – you’ll change everything about her, down to her core. 

As she disappears beneath the bearded opening, I’ll watch her become your next victim

And mourn the loss of her. 

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