fun.. in the sun

Maybe I should mix it up and try to write something fun,
maybe I should wrap it up and wither in scorching sun,
as I slither through thoughts, I'm not seeing many shimmering,
only wrinkled and broken. Chipped paint on wooden horses,
I hold a torch to hieroglyphs written on cracks in porcelain,
mask of the tortured wearer, waxing the masters porches,
hoping one day I learn karate and can attack, after I smash your doors in.
Too rich, too long, I see a basilisk basking. I sing this song
as I axe the torso for more skin,
the flesh I crave, it's time we paid for the lords sins,
me a blood bathed apothecary in need of your secretions to stock my store with.
Abominable horror looking to mop these floors with
a femur bone and some stitch strings, talk back and I'll tax you with more whips
for more red floor rinse, I'm a tactical terror and now I'm practically done,
was just looking to have a little fun.