Taylor Varndell

Carnies all over

Raise their hands shaped into horns

"Hail Satan!" they shout

Ignored yet again

"We was robbed, mister bunny!"

Harry nods at him.

The Lord above holds

Distaste for the imperfect,

Tossing broken dolls

No one to trust here

Who are you to confide in

Naive little frog?

Her tear-streaked makeup

Sitting heavy on her face

Wick taunts poor, dear John

To get back at Him

Just offer second chances

Hell is on the rise

You will be punished

Should six hundred sixty-six

Be too many rules