Don't Mess With Love Poem by Nikhil Parekh

Don't mess with lies; it would hedonistically massacre you with its fangs of vindictively flagrant prejudice,

Don't mess with the scorpion; it would so ballistically permeate its venomously curled tail into your nimble flesh; that you'd never be able to raise your hindside,

Don't mess with the Sun; it would burn you to infinitesimal moles of inane ash; which wouldn't be accepted even by the land of disastrously disappearing oblivion,

Don't mess with the Shark; it would pulverize every element of your countenance to such a pulverized chowder; that wouldn't be visible with even the most contemporarily high powered telescope,

Don't mess with the avalanche; it would treacherously bury you an infinite feet beneath your corpse; a place so scurrilously asphyxiating beneath the earth; where
even darkness dreaded to dare,

Don't mess with obsession; it would maniacally frazzle every sensuously sensitive vein of your persona; reduce you to such a bundle of delirious meaninglessness that even the coffins of hell would blatantly refuse,

Don't mess with the ghost; it would wretchedly jinx you beyond the comprehensions of infinite infinity; torturing you to such an extent; that you vomited raw blood everytime you witnessed the contours of your face,

Don't mess with the storm; it would inexhaustibly lambaste you against cold-blooded stone; till the time your bones felt that wholesomely gruesome extinction was a better alternative instead,

Don't mess with the knife; it would slice you into so many unsparing countless bits; that even the most hideously barbaric vultures would find it bizarrely gory to digest,

Don't mess with the lion; it wouldn't given you even the most evanescent chance to fulfill your last wish; before it gobbled you like a robust mosquito for its afternoon lunch,

Don't mess with corruption; it would make every step of your blissfully resplendent existence; more egregiously strangulating than the werewolves of ghoulishly satanic hell,

Don't mess with the vampish seductress; she would firstly tantalize you to realms beyond supremely ecstatic paradise; only to mercilessly excoriate apart every bit of your skin; for stitching her compassionate night-coat,

Don't mess with the gallows; they would surreptitiously creep upon you in your celestially contented slumber; to make it nefariously and irretrievably permanent,

Don't mess with the bat; it would so barbarously pluck the whites and blacks of your beautiful eyes; that your face would dissolve into laconically inconspicuous space for times immemorial,

Don't mess with the mirage; it would satiate the chords of your agonizingly charred throat till beyond eternal eternity; before eventually making you lick granules of dry sand with acidulous thorns embedded inside; instead,

Don't mess with lightening; it would numb the quintessential nexus of your existence to such a threshold; that even the most cannibalistic swords massacring your head would seem to you as a flutter of a seductive eyelash,

Don't mess with symbiotism; it would sodomize the chapters of your harmonious survival in such a way; that traumatic incarceration would become your sole mantra to whimperingly exist,

Don't mess with blood; it would abandon you forever in the gutterpipe of ostracizing deceit; beheading you as a lecherously parasitic alien; although you were its cardinally very own,

And don't mess with love; it would grant you such a diabolical death for betraying and tampering with its insuperably Omnipotent spirit; that life in any form; shape or fraternity; would never ever in even the most obsolete of birth; accept you once again