The heath, sky draining, infertile, All Future inquest, unneeded, foreclosed, Fantastical features superimposed, Jut's, all solitary, exposed.
The slopes, veering, green, not curtal, Better features found, gazes long, unclosed, Cluttered, many mysteries undisclosed, Huts and cuts, but they, they are closed.
"My juts, my cuts, my little imperfections, Every one displayed merrily in facial reflections, My stark realism, my sharp division, It all attacked fluidly in spewing precision,
But my rants, but my stance, Sloppily strewn on a lasting perfect glance, But scathing my apertures is all a trance, Incandescently brewed by my fuming war dance,
You reflect on my barrenness as I reflect on your hatred, Your unrelenting unwariness unknowingly sacred, A fermenting rebuttal awaits, innocently created, And you will scuttle away with your colour and repetitive dullness faded.
I am your enemy because you see my flaws, your legacy created by my sacrificial eternal laws."
"It's well that I am faded, and that I have hatred, For these supposed kinks in my flowing armour are nothing, if not negated, I am dense and complex, infinites reflected in my regress, For in it's yearly cyclicality, there are millions who I impress,
I have four beloved faces, you are stagnant in your stiff-lipped morbidity, I am unwittingly loved in subtle traces, unlike your pale old fragility, I am the one they speak of, I am the one they write about, And for me they have unlimited true love, unremorsefully devout,
I am the ultimate, I am the divine, they have no doubt, I am a grandiose expression of all that is above, you are but a space without.
I am your enemy because I was once you and you were once me, we are but a turntable, spinning for infinity"