what was beautiful in the sunshine
turns cruel at night
what dies in the west
on the last day of spring
will be reborn in the east
on the first day of fall
time continually eviscerates itself
and thus we feed
love is nothing more than ruse
a desperation to reproduce
but why survive
it is so we can betray
so we can slaughter
the skies are full of these
the archer and the scorpion
the hunters and the prey
we are the ones
who carved these myths
across the cold vast void
and call it heaven
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