Behold this Wretch

Fraught with the lies of a broken martyr
A distraught flock for the few to falter
Naked she sways in condemned regalia
The silent lust for the dead to pander
New age blasphemy to infer the madness
Of a silent cold,
No worse for wear
Her bruised thighs but an after thought
The folds of her so haunting
Look to the skies for sacred slaughter
For the stars have died ages ago
A better ruin in laughter wasted
As the sun despairs its own folly
The pyres sing her praises with the cackle of flames
And the smoke does choke this wretch from within