16. En mis alas
En mis alas,
Drunk on a thousand deaths,
The stench of soil and flesh in your hands;
Pale, ashen skies still bleed.
And the painting of entropy and decay
To stare at the rape of the child that I was…
Well, now the disease has been spread.
And bless the hands that made the noose so tight,
As you perform the fake smile I know…
And I’m thinking where…
Where is Annabel…
Where is Annabel?
And the painting of Hell
Spotted through the cracks of my own face:
Broken bones and burnt feet by a screaming sun…
Now, cry.
And bless the hands that made the noose so tight,
As you perform the fake smile I know…
And I’m thinking where…
Where is Annabel?
