Feed Me Opera! Thugs & Lycans! Poem by Shireen Ramadan

Keep your eyes on the ground; I'm the force ov empty in your system.
To germinate in a royal cavity, waste ov human gene.
I'm a fleshy activated weapon in chains; I'm a slave to Shiva in mass destruction.
Set me free; remove my shackles, in thunder ov bowels, for the cannibal deity.
We don't die often, to console with animals & beetles ov hunger.
We're not your tamed, we're the vision, we're the Lycans.
Wolves ov Ezra as children ov night, in dreaming eyes ov lost sapphire.
We raise in fire focus, in force ov betrayers, to handle us as dolls ov devil, as Seraph in higher level.
Order must be kept in chains, luxurious fraud in force ov mice.
Collapse your order, rebel for cursed wants, your rights to behold, YOU BELONG TO ME.
I'm the empowered reflecting hold in fangs, to snap, to suck, in shackles ov price.
But I'm a gun ov blurry to resist, in massacres & waste, humans to shrill.
Building my army ov privileged class ov Lycans, to fight in chains, to nourish from skin.
Let me grow inside your bones, to inter your inners, to germinate within.
I'm an absolute monstrosity, feeding from your bowels' immortality.
Seize my shapes in silence; feed me thugs & Lycans.
In opera ov wolves, in shackles & yells, my screams ov Kali, in bowels ov vampires.
I'm growing in chains; I'm eating their ruins, like burying alive in few feet under.
You gave me slavery in a womb ov grotesque, exotic tainted pride with glory.
In victorious chronicles ov ancestors, black history to climb the vine, in their black balls.
My red focus in termination, baptism ov dusk in visions ov old Seraph.
To organise their decay in light, turning to ashes, insubstantial vampires.
I'm a germinating Lycan within belligerency, pomes ov red, anthropophagus pest from inner recess.
To torture me, in thirty lashes, to capture worshippers, to distort & obliterate.
Curses ov breed, destroyers in anarchy, to inter their castles, to submerge a royalty.
A council composed in thugs' intellect, to manage in recess robust affairs.
Circumcisions, multiplying, multiplying, ripping a Lycan to be the dusk, in painful thraldom.
Taking your suggestions under advisement, dictator Dracula as a fraud ov art.
But ART IS WAR, multiplying, multiplying, circumcisions, incomprehensible massacre ov myriad infants.
Feed me opera, thugs & Lycans, devoured by servitude, in bowels ov fraud.
In leaves ov head, to decide an end, FIGHT OR DIE, We're the Lycans.
Hearing the loud in children ov Bethlehem, their yells to grow, massacring the masters.
Our red focus to multiply wolves, for opera ov thralls, for the art ov Lycans.....