Crude, rigorous, glazed, operose!
The plank's prepared for the lustrous assault.
Synchronizing the pervade with its confronting throes.
The prey's been chopped for none of his fault.

Impeccant the soul,lie myriad into bits
Bragging its titles, as contusions but few.
Has gained his share for the charge of the slits
Careless of what, the slayer is going through...


Those hands dat incised the skin wid a thud
Has painted the menage wid a rouge of grease
He kissed his palms soaked red in blood.
compunctioned for the soul lying rest in peace.

He who hath lived a thous of demise
is allayed, for d sin wid a nix of abet.
Veiling the haze behind the frozen crusty eyes
water ....dat leaves no surface wet..