Rotten apple, Rotted teeth

Sharps of glass, it's on me

Glistened eyes, foaming mouth

Hot flame, bat wool.

Cleanse the cloth-

Pour the oil, orange and soiled.

Pop the bubble, brush the skin.

Wash the tidal pool of foamy red.

Sharps of glass it's only mine.

Time to taste the endless time.

One must unlock the hungry wolf

and take it to it's meat daily.

The wolf is never satisfied in it's brief slumber;

O, it rises and growls,

Consummating with itself in a holy ritual

Of blood and gnashing sharp teeth

Leaving holes on the body and 

Pock marks on the soul.