There exists no slave of Hecate

There is no slave of Hecate it’s sea soft shell saves and covers me though no bliss unaware but the pull of her hair drags her back to reality though sand soft curves It limestone hurts your pink poker hands on fire they burn and prick at the skin of a lizards sin there is no slave of our Hecate with twisted nails filled: grime and mail brush liquid lines on cupids cry find black dog spines not in her eyes but wool worn lies darken the skies hello to a friend of Hecate