The Zombie and the Saint~

She walked in a disjointed gait
down a dark desolate street
thigh highs taunt and tight
on a withered frame
hollow and desiccated.

Held together by a tight black
skirt, and laced corset.

I approached to ask  for a light.

Her dispassionate gaze
crawled over me,  a hunger
was there, undefined.

Dull, Defective, Defunct

I shrugged, and moved on.
A cold hand clutched
vice like,
as claws dug
into me, desperately.

I looked to her eyes
and found a light

Bright embers burning
deep.

And took her home
Or did
she take me?
I will never know.

But should I really care?

For she saved me.
She was my Saint.

By Philip Wardlow 2015