Stolen Weapon of Mold

My shield,
In bed with decay,
Conquered and victim.
And armor,
Blasted by shame,
Polished raw
This sword,
Driven through,
And upon.
Infected missions of cannibal gestures,
On fields of wounded longing.
Unclean Impaler,
Found spear,
Foul axis,
Ground to sky,
Then torn to fall.