By Arcassin Burnham

Hazelnut course my vains,
In this coffee I drink,
Too many times I've been wrong,
Of leaving you alone,
Like a toddler tampering with an iron,
Don't let the devil burn you,
Only a matter of time before you're tired,
And lacking everything you knew,
Your fired,
The boss doesn't like red dots,
Always late,
And never collecting souls on time,
And catching clocks,
Literally,
Instead your cutting of the heads of dead *****,
Then you transition into a different form,
A young kid down a couple of blocks,
A red dot.