Hush now,
The crepuscular hour is upon us;
Whence creep the somnambulant things
Athirst for your ichor, beware!
Sweet scent of fear infused adipose perspiration,
Stirs their unnatural yearning;
A perpetual famishment of hellish torment
Marked by aching moans and insatiable hunger
Guard well the pulp of your being,
Both marrow and meat,
From the somnambulant things
And their unwholesome cravings
by Tristan Vick
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