Violent HillMature

She staggers, mock-intoxicated, legs half-broken,

Knees stinging with filthy scabs. Down the hill she falls like an angel into hell.

Thorns of faded winter roses tear at her skin like the claws of the devil,

Sensitive and pale, she falls, and bleeds among the ragged flowers.

 

Insects, antennae twitching with seizures of bloodlust,

Embedding themselves like jewels into her open veins.

Pierced by beetles, raped by fear.

 

She stumbles on, half-dead,

A starless night, a relentless pain rips through her deadened heart.

Better off dead, or punished through living?

 

Chains, fences, electrocution, fire-starter, pyro-goddess,

Bleeding in sacrifice, a shrine to the demons of Violent Hill.

 

 

The End

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