Polished talking to the motives
only motioned for destroying
a sole artifact that
is the demise of me.
Crossing routes with
the vile eyed
chief of evil that thrust
the hare out the
way in the barrel of the gun.
Inhaling
the death that comes
naturally, while twisting in places
as the sex palace, come crashing down, and
Pushes the button
and open your
eyes, licking the wounds of your bloody cuts
Hmm
Can
You
Handle
Me?