Circle Of Dead Children Jaracaca
Disemboweling all denomination with her penknife one
stroke at a time.
Sweet spirits.
As she stares toward the back of her memories she stares
through you.
Blows through you like steam screaming through burst
piping.
His lips upon her breast.
His tail within infant mouth.
The sacrament has putrified but the vampires have come
alive.
Recklessly she gashes yet her guilt will never be
severed.
