Perish, My Outcry

Perish, perish, my outcry — you will anyway not be heard in heaven... Night has swung the crescent, like a knife against the throat of the earth...
Soon stillness will begin to suffocate with the excited bark of dogs... But night will not cease to slay, yet no one will come to aid...
So, before whom, before whom shall I kneel down now praying for mercy for me and for you — when frightened stars hide themselves in the steely wrinkles of the river?
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Aaron Kushniroff
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