A pox of skin and flame that feeds on things
That I can't find - no answer for the cause -
But all that's left is these so strange red rings
Denying me myself with rebel laws.
Consuming whole whatever seems so great,
Cocooning me inside my very skin
To demagogue a fascist burning hate,
To threaten those too close to me, my kin.
It swirls around my limbs before my eyes -
I try and try to fight with breath alone
Before consumption leaves me crystallized,
So all I do is stained with weakened moan.
Encroaching 'round my throat, here is the rash
To turn what once was gold into trash.