though storms scream through the night
blighting out the moon,
she sings, beauty unrivaled
by sparrow or raven filled branches.
through fires burning in her heart,
she was the one to tear her tears
through the concrete floor,
feeding through the cracks, roars
of roots demanding sunlight.
she was the one with fingers
stained
blood red, protruding smoke;
inhale.
paranoid dreams aching for release,
stimulus, submission;
she spins inside the fog
waiting for her knight
shining bright, behind closed doors;
whispering golden soliloquies
wrapped in absolution.

time streches on, cubed in four
upon the floor, etched in stains,
sacred rights;
a chemical stench
through which the door opens wide.
inside: baphomet with one eye spies
the silver maiden,
dressed in rags of purple
dancing wretched in miseria;
dances pale beneath the naked moon,
exhale.
she shines for him to see,
she glows for him to be the one
captured in the dim light
which only he can see.

and then the laughter,
drowning out the sorrows
drowning her
in miseria.