my baby whispers to me in soft, sweeping tones.
his breath breaks bricks against my neck.
a bloated song of corruption that continues its infectious drone,
so he has me singing soul-less strains of wreck.

i writhe against him just to feel the notes that carry sweet half truths grace my being.
sweet arias tell me that seeing is deceiving.
he rubs my shoulders with his hands of menacing gold.
the colossus has struck me with his blessing , my story to tell when old.

the hymn plays on, a story to be told...
a scene to lay waste on a magazine centerfold.

but his grip grows iron on my neck,
and i shatter to pieces.

his anthem strikes me down,
my scream becomes a yawn and ceases