To whom it may concern
The toils and burdens my soul upturns
Burns insipid valleys in her earthly world
I am the pronouced hate
Invigorating the vapid sensation
So plastically waiting to commensurate
Residing in the bowels of God my stitched fate
Defecates the defective path, one day we all must take
Smite the plight purging these devilish urges?
Or rage the plague until the roots of life are twisted with screeching decay?
Either way death always stares one dead in the face
And yet it is I who carries the torch to light your funeral dirge