Payment 

The smallest things can leave an impression; what kind of dents do the worst things leave in their wake?

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He touched my skin

And it crawled away,

Didn’t come back another day.

 

He touched me again

And I screamed aloud,

Swore I’d sew my burial shroud.

 

He seared my flesh

With his foul embrace;

Now I’m here, this lonely place.

 

He killed me savage,

By my own blade, it’s true:

He’ll get his, payment due.

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