Hair strains woven from ashes.
Red dawn guiding her eyes.
Lips made of wounds and scratches,
and teeth akin to spikes.
Bile and molten earth flowing -
right beneath her snow-white nape.
Pose of beast, but couture showing -
body bearing a child's shape.
The skin parched, hardened leather.
Lacking both in hoofs and horns.
Call her savior of the devil.
Give her - the crown of thorns.
Blinded by rage that's lawless.
At once both sane and mad.
Rising from deepest darkness -
Ready to wrestle god.