a collection of ramblings

mother mary, hands of porcelain

as bright as the morning sun

bone-cracking bone

as stone cast to stone

it's over before it's begun

doth the eyes of midnight cast

across the shallow hills

see the heinous, putrid acts

its subjects so fulfilled?

black as ash, filthy flesh

they wriggle inside my skin

slowly inching to my brain

how did this illness begin?