The Sting Of My Cloth Poem by Gideon Arthur

The Heart ache with slandering tones
Upset in mind yet not down to the bones
Peep and be blasted by my drones
It hurt 'cause you come from my built cones
The cutie houses that I call home
It hurts like fire but feels as the touch of foam
Shattered mirror painted red chrome
My wrath wine is stirred by your pinching comb
Am heartless, fearless, a psychopath
Shut! And die! you taught me the killing math
Only blood, your blood can cool my burning wrath
I will get it wrong this time
I wasn't born to repeat your crime