Stuck in the catacombs
   of surreality  
dragons breathing fire
      in my brain stem
scripted as previews'
     diabolical graffiti
of cancerous breath's
      gray radioactivation
written on the walls of
   mindless chatter's rancor

your demeanor

   is highly suspect,

attempting to disguise

malfeasance neath a heart

    of fortified wrought iron,

Machiavellian by nature

  still, you have your wily ways

   like that of the allure of roses

       within prickling thorns,

  twisted of laughable

         frivolous superficiality

      and reckoning's  bereavement