Malice Hidden in Surrealism

She schemes of growing power and the lengths sucked hard to get it
I dream of being God but ever living to regret it
Our fecund nature decrees that Jesus wept come for
The Devil on Her knees

To grant Her lows a remedy
And mine desire's wish
To taste thereof of Heaven's scent
As sick and twisted as it is
For Her corset laced with arsenic
Hides snake curves within Her midst
Whilst Her halo of white lies supplies
Her temple to what God forbids.