There with them is error
We are sacrosanct
A taunting of ravens to you

My swarms have fit the holster
My faith burnt every house
Like no other manger

I am emptier with doubt

Bare them

Sevens
Three to a pall
Marks the

Venom
Lush and terminal


When i became your larvae
You fed me from your plates
Now my slouch is nervous

Sinking by the face
Wrinkled by this gravel
Skinless trace of time

Wear your cobwebs proudly
In your cheap and brittle sight
My glands emit this carnage

These pews bend back your knees

That uniform it wears you

When the ultimatum pleads

Bare them

Sevens
Three to a pall
Marks the

Venom
Lush and terminal


That cesspool it becomes you
Just north of the eyebrows
Squat the hole for a pucker

When the rations go blonde
The salted stitch is patient
Waiting to engulf

There is plasma from this hoax
Pretending to be us


Embalming all the fluids i must i must
I prefer to burn them i must i must