The air is like beaten eggs.
My heart has been gasping hard, and it begs
To grasp on a pardon, fly
From grief that predictions ably espy.
My limit of you was met
The moment you spoke, then ears felt regret.
So flippant about misdeed,
Mouth really deserves to bleed for its screed.
The breath you expel is thick,
A mixture to which no honor can stick.
I gag when I feel your sound,
A braggart should have intestine unwound.
Unwound as in torn by force,
The tube and your fate both following course
Directed by ogre hand--
Which, really, would be a tool I command.
My tulpa would not end there;
Original beast I've planned could impair
Survival of you in mind--
Well, after I get his outfit designed.