These frail mane still smells of coffin nail.
Hands..Struggling with metacarpus to trade the manus ..
stretch. scratch. Twirl.
Orbs: wide and wrathful:
Fluctuating the pupils
left and right
| Mad mad |
Concerntating on these screams..
screams into le noir lughole .
I grasp your fluttering wings.
Oh you flutterer !
fluttering on C.
Fluttering hushed ..
fluttering to strive for nooks and blood.
Oh you flutterer!
erroneous target thee choosed.
now ease into mine ichor palms.
Death is inevitable. But somes, they are meant for it...THE EXTIRPATION