Burnt effigies to a faultless crime.

The brightness of a pastel daze, obliterated in a fucked up gaze. A womb into the unknown.Canned imaginings, he holds my throat with pinched finger and a brutal thumb. I rip my own blood as he dares to bury me -  limbs and arms broken. Nostrils fight and flare  against his Brogue wanderings, the Irish charm of tooth and  claw nail hammerings. Burnt upon these ancient lines, my mad days wanderings. Thrust inverted from gloss to grime. A hammer against a meaningful life. MB