broiled Her small little piece of living Meat--
turning It into ashes.
She's now just that discrete dust particles
dwelling with other microscopic particles--
lifeless and misguided
waiting to be brushed away
by the loathsome and sickening
so-called Godly hand of Yours.
And She can only spill this
on that four corners and two sides sheet.
p/s: I was listening to Four Corners and Two Sides by Sleeping With Sirens while writing this poem. Haha.