I’ll kill a cat’s 1st life
Transport it to its ninth
Just for its reincarnation
To be a still born sign!
Then death’s next on the list
End the grim reapers morbid stance
Glance over the cadavers rotting facade
Laugh at the sherad
Wave-back at those gone-bye
Murder bones, voyager cartons stoked to burnt filters
Smoke signals rising to extra miles, with a decree of yoke
I shall never ring the bell, on graded thrills
Just for Peter Stuyvesant established branding skills
So not kicking
Phantom limbs morbidly stricken
Frost bitten
Tapping fingers awaiting the explosion of rhythm
Fuse paused with a ticker jumpy
Grumpy jack in the box sprouts in the back-drop
Pandora’s locket pluming crops quite lovely
Grind boot strapped burns, churn with a yearn to learn
Birth starts deaths inquest express threat rest bed
Dust-chasers google rectums that cross checked flags first
Each cardiovascular skips dead breathes to hug a prime trophy
Engrave your mark upon the tailored scale
Graze upon grace’s serene aces of spades
It’s rather an odd-balled, gilded bronze age for dice frames
Aided and abided for glorious aim
I solemnly praise this bondage linked dangled carrot gift
Albeit, grit bit wit swift with blistered lips
It’s under my view below the Christmas tree
Its ribbon shines to blaze the morning sunrise
Firer flies swarm around its blanketing glow
I won’t follow the status quo
Drift around corners to be a supreme bender
Flip through the adjacent agenda’s
Aphid blooms pollination peddles with burgundy splendour
I live in a basement fasting halos with grim patience
Stun dizzy heights to bring funk trunks to defy guns triggered for morbid stunts
Harry Houdini escaped his mirror
Then his reflection killed his shimmer
Know his dap of prestige is just a past glimmer
I stay glued to stomach bouts
Where ascetic acid knocks my muscle lining out
It’s worse when the referee shouts
‘Take him out; the fight is beyond the first round’
Fat lady on a podium sings when the bell is hit
The checked flag to wave the end of the blind blitz