i hold
your bloody heart.
it's pumping,
as much as
spilling,
your ruby slime
closer to those
wounds.
i should've kissed
you.
but how could i,
when you were
warted and green,
fresh from the pond?
and now you're
dead and dying,
for the sake of my
curiousity;
a prince in death,
but in life
a frog
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