Desperate. Monochromatic.
Time watches on silent and cruel and fate hangs its wreath down low.
Rigor mortis is my name.
I am long in the tooth and eager in the jaw.
I settle down in your bones when you're feeling alone down right and deep like the birth rates in towns hit by fire and disease.
Watched by born again god god squads and their coat hanger's sneer.
Like the stare from a red girl in a red summer shroud.
Macabre. Emaciated and highly sexualised.
When they pray to themselves and say, Darling, I just wanna feel dead inside.

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