You shed your wings and fell not from grace; you ate through the womb to be born. Your mother died before seeing your little hands. The Father shut his eyes in disgust when you spoke your first words.
Your eyes are blackened, your knuckles bleed. The wounds decorate your skin and you laugh. You walk with your powdered nose and your wide eyes. You're ready to **** 'em all.
Ripped limbs and careful spelling; meticulous and violent.
No fruit in the world could reverse the process. No holy liquid could wash away your curse, your blessing.