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Sharks to Blood.

Burning
in your own supercharged
glow,

spotlight blisters
begin to show
on your nearly
newborn epidermal
abode.

Soon the skin
begins to peel,
revealing a disturbed
creature beneath

naked,
writhing,
convulsing,

waiting to show
its sun-starved,
original face.

Itching, scratching,
clenching, gnashing
claws and teeth
till all save for the real
is ground to dust.

No fear. No sweat.
No fucking need.

Well-adapted
to catastrophe,
finally showing strength,
helping to plow
a path to liberty.

Fight
power-hungry
knaves
who seek to exploit
our shock,

like sharks
drawn by blood

of our aching
desperation,
our vulnerability.

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