Lisbeth Richardson

I am the wailing unclean spirit, born in a palace of corruption.

I am the wide mouth of the glutton, bearing the daggers of consumption.

I am the tension ever rising, in the wake of my regret.

I am the hopeful father's soul, on the long way to repent.

I am the hedonistic mercenary, flaying children with a smile.

I am Christ upon the cross, my disciples drowned in bile.

I am the sprawling army waiting, a vanguard of mistrust.

I am a kneeling God in exile, a tarnished icon of disgust.

Watch as I dissect myself.

Watch as I destroy myself.

For I am the omnipresent ghost of lust, in a world of black and red.

For I am the bane of self-acceptance, seething among the dead.