...word

…word, who can be so delightfully perverse… to thee,
shadows of conscience, in the abyss of my existence,
shut the fuck up… and listen to silence screaming ...
your armor means nothing against my being!
My breastplate in goat skin lined, wisdom's cup
will safely keep filled with blood and tears sublime,
seed to sow the earth divine, essence void of time.
Words like honey, crawl up the soul from the deep
poem that makes this mead complete.
...word,
you can be delightfully perverse... to thee,
shadows of conscience, from the abyss of my existence
you will hear silence screaming ... shut the fk up...
your armour means nothing against my being!
My breastplate sown with goat skin line,
wisdom's cup will safely keep, filled with blood and tears divine
until next time we meet.
that's why ... my misanthropic essence,
drink the soul and spit out the body
so that the flesh can leave anytime it may wish.
Form, that across time and void will perish.