​I hammer thoughts into words

Which are used or stored; swords

I hammer life into my muses

which I push on the audience, which he uses.

With my epiphanies as forges,

I create the most lyrical of forces;

My words crush the hardest of hearts,

coagulates the liduidest of parts.

Yes, they are weapons beaten into perfection,

Iron horns, giving its weilder attention.

The blades of my rhymes give you life

by running through you taking in stride,strife.
A beauty death.


I shape words that weild its weilder

in the same way a language speak its speaker.

My iron bars are food for thoughts the weak choke on.

The sheets her hymen broke on.

My forgeries forge from faraway,

instantly instills intertwined emotions in a way

that strikes the cords of your soul

and play the notes of both Satori and Sheol.

Lyrical slayer, my mind, the forge, is an abattoir.

Lines on excess, my readers are my reservoir


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