I can’t stop the whispering rain
From falling on the shroud that is my mind.
I climb domineering fences,
But I can’t outrun the burn.
Seething snakes crawl around my shouting feet
And make their way up to my scalding throat,
Squeezing and tightening the reigns.
There are ripples inside my metallic stomach.
A zesty sensation that absorbs my senses
And scalds their parched waters that dance
On top of my wilted flesh.
Hungry is my passionate wave
That leaks havoc into your hidden desires.
Sallow is the dew that caresses each tired leaflet,
And milky is the sun’s morning bliss.
I am the hills bleeding throughout your leaping spirit.
Is this the song of the damned?
For I am the dame of the great Dane
Who pulls with teething melodies.
I must have been a fool
To believe the ways of the world are blessed unto me.
For the arms of the Mighty King have forgotten my eternal flame.
Woest me, I’m crazed with your deliberation.