i think you are
wrong to stand in my
way. you seek to
destroy all that
is left in my brain.

i did kill a man
with blows from my hand.
fiercely to his bones
i ploughed.

i ripped out his
soul and threw it away
in a tin not too much
unlike you. i own this
nirvana of concrete and pain.

i watch all the sinners and i watch
all the saints on my
circadian treks. i am not lonely
in spite of my face for look
to my right there is my race.

unbeknown to them yet though
here i stand. they are nearing
the end of the bind.

soon i will
usher them to this abysmal entry.

where your soul goes

and the killing continues with the will
of their hand.