Describe my imperfections,
In a trained diabolical voice,
Fill in the cracks on my skin,
With tender blessed nuzzles,
Search for all the scars,
& make them tell tales,
Of me being the intermediary,
Of the constant battles,
Of angels & neighborhood demons,
Siphon blood from my veins,
Make a libation then taste,
Then tell me if it's pure,
I know I have flaws,
I don't have habits,
I have deviations,
My bones are rusting,
I have spiracles on my spinal column,
To breath the breath of the sages,
and my teeth fear the tongue,
So the wording is usually prolific,
I have hieroglyphs on my chin,
Because it's shaped like a pyramid,
My poems are imperfect,
My word-crafting is iRreGular,
Now change me if you can.