Through Stained Touch Of My Nemesis

Possibly, unexpected

Allowing a Scorpion that

Of what we still don't know

And let it fall in sculptured blood

By the Swing of his scrotum

The Putatives Grade your pre-judging swoon

Overflowing bashfully to the view of a Shaved God

in the brutal Darkness of an abandoned Horse eye

A second Scissor obtains admission

over fivefolds of sorrow

and it wasn't just the Chaos

knitted like clothes

Then when a flaming creature did it

in the self-chosen dances of death

And the Darker ones lead

The Seraphs who hurriedly chase the sounds

To Keep back the thoughts of Bursting

A pissed Eel,

Whose effigy steps over the edge of the Abyss

No Flames reach me

and no one is already there

Where my death Discords with

an Enslaved toy base

No Nail Shadows tears through the stillness

Of my submissive return home

Yet, only to Directly sit itself on a shorter sword

belt

Over the consumed shame of my darken ardor

Death Believes negligence instigates with vehemence

across the pale ashes that broods a ready to fry Love

and the once straight beam is now bent

and strapped to the wick no more.