Nude and forlorn, clothed in vines and leaves,
Moss green hair and yellow eyes
Like the golden changeling moon,
She roams the swamp as lonely as a star,
Hurtling through time and space.
Never seen, never loved, never cherished.
Bitter as arsenic.
Wanting, wanting, wanting,
Until it is a bloody thorn in her heart.
And the wind screeches like a banshee as it flows through her mossy hair.
And the juices of sulfuric hell flow through her veins.
Know her by the blood caked on her naked breasts,
And her quick lizard step and the smell of rot,
Which is her own particular magnificence.