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PityYou were quite beautiful for death,
you, once someone's baby;
long eyelashes and dark hair, handsome; soft lips even in final slumber;
they called you the tattooed man--and that is all they ever could call you--
you were quick to vanish from the annals of human memory.
For years thousands looked upon your death mask,
the police hoping to catch your name as you slipped through the cracks in their hands like quicksilver.
They never did find you.
Ah, it was so easy for your murderer to escape;
he merely preyed upon those that our world had long ago forgotten.
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