She was just a shell anymore.
The hollow image of a beautiful life
tortured by vivid memories of color,
she walked through the gray mist
in the abyss of her depression.
Cast from the asylum, when government funding
trickled slowly to its sad untimely end.
Abandoned to time, to wither and crumble
save for the Chapel, she lived in theses days.
Wandering the halls of her tortured mind
had become a loneliness, she could no longer bear.
Leaving the refuge of her well kept sanctuary,
she made her way down, long overgrown hills
to the rivers edge, by the bridge of torment
where the dangerous outcast’s dwelled.
Strapping bruits, all meat and no potatoes.
Just the way she liked them.
A washing by the rivers edge.
She always got clean before getting dirty.
A paradox she did not questioned
for she welcomed the control.
Removing the dirt of depression
revealed the essance of a woman.
Alpha males nearly feral, vied for the attetions
of the one who came calling, once every month
when she was ripe with scent.
Mindless gladiators pummeling each other
into the white sandy beach, staining it red.
The last one standing bruised and bleeding
followed panting and posturing
drinking in the perfume, that trailed behind her.
Up the overgrown hill side
to love and die on her alter of deadly desires.
On purple satin table cloths meant to honor God
stained with the essance of last months conquest
she made love to her demon angle
before devouring his flesh.
She was the black widow of the asylum
fucking and feeding on Satan's crimson table.
Every moaning arch, as she writhed in ecstasy
was her defiant protest, from the gates of hell.
As long as she could lead mindless men
into this blasphemous lair of unholy ground,
she would mount them and cut their throats
feasting on their flesh, atop her alter of contemp,
mocking the God of her misunderstanding!
Honorable mention
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