Cloak me in a spread of triumph
That abolishes dismay
Claims my devils' lives
Like a storm on a rainy day
Ignite the beating 
Like a throbbing gash
Pouring crimson, like a fruit juice
Spilled upon the tiled kitchen
Carve into the core as it splits in two halves 
Will it flutter just as strong?
Potent fragments peel away
Like the skin of an onion
I'm so skilled at the art of intuition
I execute what lingers in the cobwebs of my mind
Steady at the advent of the race
It waits; clammy hands drip droplets 
Transforming the dirt from light to dark
Weavings of intricacies---pulsating electric shocks from 
My scalp to my toes




TBC. . .