She walks fast and breaths slow,
A fiddle player missing her index
She runs now, she was always running..
A side of a truth—her only ally
Her ***** were burnt blue
with the Greek fire that tingles further with saliva.
But not hers they said, for she was stained
****** to purification through pain.
Her pain was sheer existence.
Every breath hurting more and hurting less
Continual life leading to death.
She is the morality of lust,
the end of a beginning..