An amour piercing silver bullet
Would cut straight to the heart of the martyr,
Put at rest the lycanthrope
Metamorphisied by misplaced hope
With tarot death and sham Dis-tress
“Abandon baggage all ye who enter here.”

A spider web hung at the side of my bed
Keeps the unwanted angels at bay
The curtains full drawn run contrary to dawn
A “fuck you” to the Sun and the day.

The dot on my forehead is the sight of a gun,
My stigmatas are all self induced
Whatever doesn’t kill me can only leave me stunned
And what does has not yet been produced.

Then with Clearasil camoflage and a slander proof vest
I’m all set for a night on the town
A chainmail construct animated at best
But I’m safe with my face not around.