Dear Friend,

Jealous of what you have not
Clinging mist, determined to sow rot
With hooked claws to the spine
Venoms refusing the blood clot
With jeweled eyes seeking what I sought--

Though not for comfort like I, no
With visions of glut, you claim all that is mine
Oh treacherous, ravenous crow

In my ears your deprived thoughts churn
In my hands your venoms burn
The heart palpitates, so I dance and shift wills to the beat of thine
On the madness and ash you'll gorge, as the others must wait in turn
This final victory, this punch-line to the first jest, I shan't spurn
But before then, there is something you must learn--

I am grateful, dear friend,
For the laugh is so much sweeter than your cackled caw
For the smile is so much brighter than your menacing maw

Though once more I've found a temporal anodyne
A poison to your poison, a rot to your rot
There will be no punch-line, no final sign for you to dine
So go, Despot of Hope, fly back to your lot--

I'll miss you, dear friend, until your winter comes again.

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