Heed the light of the moon, the mess,
The bright night's speculum with her tress,
She's standing above my slumberless glance;
My body is shivering, she holds me in trance.
The sepulchral dark in my room's standing still,
The spasm in my legs is feral, I feel.
My thumbs with their nails are livid and dead,
My womb is a void, defunct and not fed.
The night will not go, I wait for death's kiss,
He'll take me to rest in the scarce of Abyss.
And tough I'll be gone, I yet long to tell
I'm the daughter of feather and mother of hell.
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