She flutters in darkness,
Unborn from her womb.
Rose petals concealed within walls.
crying blood of their self sacrifice.
We will not perish,
until blue burns orange.
Thorns prick her chaliced legs,
razorblades cut her pulsing heart,
seldom she smiles,
with the comfort of a mute hearing no relics,
of madness.
She drinks poison for its her tonic,
that corrodes her memories.
She walks among the whole of non-being,
the vacant universe,
where damnation is adorned by the touch of a jet black seraph.
She puts herself in the vanguard,
of biblical atrocities,
hoping for angels to drown their sorrows,
portrayed in a glass of rum.
Thoughts racing in the co webs entwined,
in her head.
Hellbent,
on cataclysm of holy soil.
She is the queen of the gorge underground,
collared and led,
by Father Satan himself.