I want to carve my arms in the pantheon of gods, inhale flames, and exhale smog.

I want to breathe in acidic dreams, in ping, to the great unclean one.

I want to blot out the sun, in the shadow of the one, and only enemy.

I want to eat the flesh, of the brilliant, and the best, resilient to the test, of monotony.

Fill me up, of all the stuff, that dreams are made of.

Drain me out, in the altar of doubt, and arm me with the love of your deities.