Acrid wind burns through the desert,
as the night turns from velvet to oil.
Sweet nightmares crawl in shadows deep,
scorched by her lovely face.
Pale white perfection balances upon the midnight sky.
Angry beauty blasphemies itself, screaming to the night.
Scars run down her angry eyes,
crying starlight, poorest pale widow.
Every night she rises high,
only to be torn down from her fickle domain.
Pulls the ocean's blanket to herself,
praying for eclipsing death.
