doom’s petals are lustrous
darkness isn’t one of her virtues
though her rain may feel
at first like benediction
her triphammer heart is small
as the first domino
and her nails are real
her paint and her bullets
still have lead
quietly as water she gathers
everywhere there’s a hole
lost tribe missing mountain destroyed
village extinct species
doom came dressed up
as enlightenment once
now on a casual friday
she fits right in