Poet Tellaferro Poet Rhyme

The End of Flesh

This is way the flesh ends not in burning or dust
Not in a whimper but a scream
As you see I am an Artiste and such, 
Not in paint but flesh and blood, bone

Hearing the voices talk, words of wrath and greed
I feel their call, crawl deep into my mind, I intone
Burrowing like maggots into my spine

This is the way the flesh will end in the cry of the damned
Oh the pleas, such sweet music my victims make  
Crimson on my delicate fingertips, I taste 

Oh what a rush don’t you think 
I’m just an artist a traveler in spirit really 
On my way to the holly-caust

To see the pyres of some mad American empire 
Turn to ash and dust 
My blades cast a fine rust

This is the end of flesh and bones, souls 
Crimson is such a good color on you 
Tis stark against your pale flesh 

Delicate like China's pure white dust
Oh how you scream so
Hush that delicate mouth
 
This is the way the flesh will end 
In the rhythm of my blades 
Fresh crimson spins, crushed 

An Artist of flesh n bone, blood, & still-life
Don’t you think this glorious, such a trip 
Oh to think I’m just a passenger on his ship 

Of life, can you hear their screams?
This is way the flesh ends not in burning or dust
But in the lines made in flesh, silver sharp blades cut

Can’t you see I am an Artist
Not in paint but in flesh blood, n bone
Hearing the voices talk, words of wrath and greed 

Oh the sweet screams 
I feel the call, words burrow deep into my mind, 
Piercing like daggers deep into my spine

This is the way the flesh will end 
Not in the whimpers of the meek
But the righteous scream of the powerful 
Oh the pleas, of my victims

Crimson on your delicate lips
Oh what a rush don’t you think
This is way the flesh ends not in burning or dust

Not in a whimper but a scream
As you see I am an Artiste and such, 
not in paint but flesh and blood, bone

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