She screamed she was swarming with locusts
Halos circling above her head like vultures
Eyeing carrion cooking beneath deserted desert sun
Maggots grew from her fingertips stretching towards me
Like tentacles grasping for the softness of my throat
Pulling at the strings of my heart with her personal touch
Compassion bruised corpses on the dance floor bump and grind
Fragile angel wings diseased with lice and fleas
Flying or falling from the grace of Heaven’s Gates
The last supper plagued with conversations of you
Impending deceptions and its weight in gold and blood
The solitude of bayou country and banjo twangs
The skepticism of fabled story tales
Condemnation of indulgence and redemption
The lies we’re fed from birth to death