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when the shadow looms overhead
a harbringer of doom begins to scream –
to some, a death ring; to others, a warning to heed –
lock the doors to all but dreams;
await the neighboring howl of broken bloodstreams.

my heart aches for the legend of the banshee. because a banshee, in and of itself, is not harmful. they are alone. they know when death will come. and they can do nothing except howl a mournful warning until their throat is ripped out.


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