Sibilant and macabre. Walpurgis sauntered in. Skies litten with five-pointed stars. The work of crafts surpassing sin. As She graced Her window ledge.
Midwinter wrongs the rites of Spring. Her spinal chill rakes the earth. Whilst pensive souls at zero sing. Woebetidings of rebirth. Under cold stares of Mars maligned.
I bled on a pivotal stretch. Like a clockwork Christ. Bears sore stigmata, bored. . And as I threw Job, I drove. Myself to a martyred wretch. To see if I drew pity.