Here is the point: Between cone-shaped crater
on my stretched-white cheek
and this firm beige rod that my fingers squeeze
the graphite draws blood on flesh.
My eyes fixate on the paper
and try to draw meaning with ink of desperation
but to no avail; I decide then I must act
and make my point meet paper,
but when I sign my name it bleats sanguine letters.
Cain's creature then lifts the blood-signed pact
and places me and it in his flesh-skinned pack.
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