the midst of flesh couldn't keep her at bay,
only the taste of blood on her lips, and the suffering that will never go away,
A plaque of flys, constantly caressing her skin, and the bones that litter her path, never enough
until the moon dies or we perish
never will her reign see an end
I only unconsciously ponder the
reality of what's become the subtle lie,
awash with faded glory and the
skin of those who have died.
©unchman
D