exsanguinate the surrogate
splinter the soul-bones
and work with it
needle-nosedive into fretful
twitching and switching severance
for fours in swords inverted
serving the Devil with the words
required to birth dark squirms
burrowed in womb-pores

pours out like death-herds
dread sires and banshee curs
cutting the air with knives
meant for draining knaves
walking through the woods
in waking nightmares untouched
by skies and sun and fires burn
in furnaces composed of sores

scores of men and their biological processes
spill terror into the streets of dawn
ringing the bell with the hammer
spreading the cure with corpse dust
carried in coffins made of stone
engraved with chasm-rune ruination incantations
deeply echoing with horror and doom
but they press on through the throng and windows

organize the organisms in your mind
then let them slip through the gray matter columns
slick with poison thoughts and psyche slough
muggy and mushy and oh so ugly it hurts
making morose musically intoned implorations
temptation is drinkable brain dew
that's best sweetened with salt from the womb

life from that tomb reduces all in its path
relaxing the children into wrath-ringed halo teeth-
chattering torture boxes maintained by the state
of uncertainty we knew and do in the dark
behind closed doors to knock out the cork in the floor
and drain down the rumors of war
and the failed diplomatic drug legislation
instigated by poor boy and girl peoples

this physical form cannot keep concluding
the world inside is made of door-wood forests
where the corners contain everything imagined
and the scene is imagic and spelled
u c now how it works here?
because I don't

cannot identify my identity
cannot conform to society-symmetry
try as I might I cannot die on three
or four swords inverted by
the Devil's hands of cards
holding the keys to card-house horrors
locked in the tomb of the womb
where demons assemble more
and hell breeds its herd
so we all can converge in bloodbath...

Babel-rapped righteous words worked into hurting ourselves