Almost a slaughter
Are you, granddaughter
of a faraway war.
With your smile that flashes knife-like
Like a blade that was drawn in anger
And turns and twists, reaching inside
The guts of this sorry loser.
With your killing legs and gait
With your mind that's sharper than that
(And that, too)
With your eyes, a bittersweet poison
That turns hemlock green(er) with envy
A carnage, a genocide,
Massenmord
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