That bitch, sorrow, always slinking

around like a cat,

blameless defiler of all things

best left alone, tearing holes

anywhere those razor paws find

purchase

That bitch, sorrow, she knows what

she is and revels in her aftermath

the lingering, the crater, the

worst of the deadly sins that

somehow evaded the list

she is cunning that way

That bitch, sorrow, holding all

the keys and nothing back

butchering vixen days and

hemlock nights with ease but

never carelessly, there is great

effort to her craft

That bitch, sorrow, grinning ear

to ear, self satisfied and lustful

parting those vile lips to mouth

sweet nothings, and...

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