Mine incarnation streched like William Wallace of Scotland upon this old timber trunk, mine head is dunked in a *** of needing and haveth nots, for didst the world forget the gots?
Ripper's rip out thine gut's by spoons, the feeling of a balloon as thine heart's pricked by human needle.......

Scarab's and Beatles crawleth in dung, when they sucketh they sucketh hard from thy dud's and put thee in confinement wherein realignment is fully needed....    

Handcuffed to solitary hole!!!

Frozen blood o' thee lie,
I stareth thy te'rs crawleth,
Numb fingers o' thine,
De'd rose, soken wine,
Waitin' fo' the soul o' mine,
Tranquility ami'st us flasheth,
Melancholy too faces death,
Reminiscences t'en frozeth,
Whispers face silence,
Thy pouch, ink bleedeth,
Thy feather shrinketh,
Knees, the ground, no more toucheth,
Thy body, und'r my roof, freezeth,
My soul, fr'm thy body, drifteth.

Thy rose rots, ami'st my feet an' the door,
Pleading, the fragrance its to be sucketh an' bitter wine pour,
Blisters dropp'th from thy swirlin' shore,
Boun'less pain stabbeth me more,
Thy gift'd feather, thy ink pouch, leather,
Those symphonies maketh me smile, no more,
Beneath the cores de pumping meat, I solemnly adore,
Curious stem o' rotten rose whispereth,
Thy reminiscences under my chest crawleth,
Mysterious reas'n attracteth thy death.