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