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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1262056
three of seven deadly sins
'more, more, more' is the mantra in her head.
as she sucks the marrow from everything and everyone to enter her life - like lambs to slaughter.
she takes and takes and is unable to give anything back.
one day, in her travels, she meets a remarkable man, caring, generous and kind.
he realizes her sinfully selfish nature but so loves her - he believes with his love, she will change.
she bleeds him dry and spits out his bones.
'more, more, more' is the mantra in her head.
she is older now - much older. she sits in her rocking chair, saying her mantra over and over again. her weathered, papery hands grasp the handles of her chair as she chants. she is alone - and wants more.
it is there she is sitting when death approaches - it's finite hand outstretched to her.
she shakes her head violently - yellowed white tendrils flying about,
screaming 'more, more, more'.
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