Occultus Cünt Delight
Styling an aesthetic in mental pool tricks
and doubting menial stolen tide pod licks,
the acid burns a clean spot on me
as pure as the dawn can be!
I absorb a new ability to Abilify
a flayed and shaking drip dry
rub of nighttime plague,
the doors, the floors, newly vague.
So flaccid all who read,
the difference in coat varies by breed;
the estimated psi of big cats is mighty, take heed.
I wring the life from the loaf of sun
and bake with it a handgun.
To season the metal before
bringing it to the lips of an encore.
The elasticity of the dough
is reliant on stale ginkgo
and the salted drippings of wenches.
Wise to batten hatchets and slip in slit trenches,
to partake in the sight.
Oh, what sweet swift rift in the night.