graveyard shift goes wild

In moon lit stone kissed night she stands, a clay queen in leather black bands. Spiked cape flares, boots strike the grave, she grips a blood red scythe shaped like a bat’s brave wave. A crow whispers on a tombstone’s sigh, while flames lick the earth and shadows fly. The Gothic cathedral looms, its windows glow, and skeletal whispers echo low. She stalks the cemetery’s haunted breath, death’s dark doll, the night’s fierce depth. The moon watches, clouds swirl in fear her gothic reign is whispered in the eerie air.