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Lynch the Alien.

Pushing the boggle
threshold
beyond the pale,
killing giggles.

No longer
a mere fence-sitter,
watching the sheep,
back warmed

only by destiny,
by the sun
of awkward
content.

Presently roasting
beneath that celestial
god, blistered, burnt
to a crisp

blacker
than the blackest,
absorbing
everything, sharing
nothing. Reflection
not included. A chill
creeps, I resonate.

Thought that this
was my alchemy,
but it is just my funeral pyre.
My consumption
by the dark. This could
really be the death
of me. Ashes spell
the end
for the naive.

Torches lit, intensity
of the blaze
breaking the night,
bleeding in sparks
that fly

from their morbidly-
entranced eyes,
chanting death, delirious,
driven by the contagion
of fear,

the townspeople
hunt it down.

Its time to lynch
the alien.

Enemies divided,
now sharing arms,
hand in hand to bring
down a shared
sense of threat:

its time to lynch
the alien.

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