At dawn, we collect our nefarious swords,
Drenched with dusk's wailing chords.
Hordes congeal steadily in torrents, aboard
Vessels abreast a boy who's bored.
Insipid wounds burst like dwarf stars,
Spattering lapels slicked with stagnant scars.
In battered lands stands a striated limb
And jeering tiers of perverted peers, slimmed
In spirit, hoarse and nauseating. Rumpled sheets,
Amass writhing; blackened defeats,
Repressed urges surge and singe sporadically.
Timid expressions impress, yet he still tallies.