Ton ton ton the touch of blood.
A bleak, a tick.
I am sure you were asleep.
Oh! I deviously inherited it,
that ta ta ta of your creak.
Pester your guts when you pass through the snow.
Close yourself and open a cave.
Take your time and deep breath within one smell.
Keep your nose out since it is not a game.
Crash a tote within your chest,
and pray that a praxis will formulate.
The dissolution of the self.
The correlation of the sense.