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Sins Of The Bleeding Soul
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Dark Poetry Mary stands, beads draped on her arm, as it bleeds from her lips in divine incarnadine.
Flows from her throat and spills upon her ivory skin.
Haunting– a sight, a sore.
Stigmata painted for her.
Porcelain, pure
virginal whore.
Nothing more:
a precocious, pretentious, precarious lure.
A siren, a song– everything wrong in the light of bitter deities.
Once ruled, now fools to the ones who were fooled.
Not sacred, now malignant and cruel
as it bleeds from their lips in deceptive perfection.
Beautiful lies– beauty defies.
Heartfelt, with such conviction.
An objection.
Call out for a truth.
Simple deduction finds violent aggression– constant dejection:
a curious, furious, glorious redemption.
Once fools, so cruel, now bleed for her in the passive direction of few.
Seriously.
Deliriously in slow succession.
Mary stands
drinking the blood from various hands.
Feeding on the sins of all.
