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Click hereI tremble at the sound of her siren
call and the power behind it. No knife,
no matter how sharp, could cut with such speed;
I am driven unto madness by speed
pulsing through my veins. Awakened by the siren
that marks her presence, as sure as a knife
would scar my flesh. But, unlike with a knife,
I can carry on, maintaining the speed
needed to answer such a fatal siren.
She wield's her siren like a knife, such speed.
2009 Poetry Survivor Challenge, Q-16