Pariah, drawn and quartered for blindfolded bystanders. Unworthy eyes will not be met by mine. Cauterizing wax-like wounds on wings of flies, I will grind my fingers into knives. Hung by a white flag, watching yourself as you spin in shards of glass sticking out of every limb. Remove your mask, no longer who you are or what you were just gone. Beg for the breath of reconciliation and force my feet to stand on seas of snakes. Seduced by the fire burning just out of arms reach thawing limbs of frozen moths. Release my ink from your skin with leeches starved for sickness, and compare your cowardice. Inhale the dirt from mouths of worms. Wings of flies shards of glass seas of snakes remove your mask. Your f*cking end.