Purge #8

There’s suffocation in the air

There’s freedom in the prison

If naked you cannot bear

Your eyes will spill crimson

Shut the windows, open the door

Trap the sound within our breath

Relish the citric sweet sore

The little pain of little death

Serving the soul up in a plate

Devoured and never thanked

The lustful curves used as bait

Shortchanged and pranked

Two rivers flow straight to the abyss

Peak through the fence; serenity

Watch fields of stolen bliss

While craving an identity