by Nick Gisburne
Her dress is dusty, weathered by the road
A patchwork of a thousand rips and holes
The bite from which her former life once flowed
Has left her blind to bright, forgotten goals
She does not see a highway filled with dreams
Whatever she was looking for is lost
With each new, ugly episode, the screams
Are silenced, as a carnal cusp is crossed
Encounters are an accident of fate
Coincidence delivers what she needs
With each insane epiphany of hate
She mourns for those who suffer as she feeds
Her journey, long, relentless, will not end
For evermore the hunger will descend
