Marked by walls

encasing further

the stench of lies

I've lived, and I harbor.

Transformation of me

from moth to dust

what shall I give you

but poisonous lust?

What and nothing

want roses of ash

burning the edges

of this generous gash.

I am not yours

To cradle and swaddle

bite off the nipple

of this cold baby's bottle.

You are my elder---

you knew the deceit,

the desperate search,

an acceptable treat.

An apple, fair one,

for your delicate greed

that feasts so hungrily

on my lonely need.

And my lambs still scream

eternally weeping

on cool gunshell floors

find insanity sleeping.

Charming

aren't you?