by Nick Gisburne
The Sisters of Secretia tend the Nest,
Euphoric in the strands of seeping silk.
Their bodies, born to burn, to bleed, are blessed
To purify the poisons of its milk.
Infected fibres, tendrils of decay,
Enfold the fevered flesh of those who serve.
A feculent miasma, cold and grey,
Exposes and enlightens every nerve.
The Nest selects a sacrifice, a slave.
Her Sisters hum a hymn of grief and grace.
Voracious for the fertile flesh they crave,
Appalling swarms of sickness flood her face.
The Nest, replete, releases its reward,
A filthy milk, to feed a starving horde.
