I Got Something Real For Yo' A*s In These Hands

This is an invasion of the flesh
And I'm on the offensive
Their triangular arrow-heads rip at splitting ends
Like anarchy, they populate, descending infection
And my voice shears through the open air
Hoary to my throat, scratchy and barren
At their ends, they fold, forming a point, directed to me
Hair rises on the back of my neck
My eyes dilate, seeing the sky of its true void and darkness
I hear the sounds of lesions, they are vocal and promising
This is an invasion of the flesh
And I'm on the offensive
At their ends
At their ends
Invasion of the flesh
Finally, something real, something real in these cold hands
They came, they arrived, now they are welcomed
No need to fear, no need to wonder, no desire to cower
Tilling the seams of this new aftermath
Like pulling teeth off of muted grins
Its a talent, its a gift, its of a precise technique
Its noticeable in the invasion of the flesh
Curtained in the blistering cold
Biding my time, not waiting for the warmth to loom over me
Biding my death, not coveting the emotional shores to cover my nascence
Waves of green volition crashing against cliffs of forever
Sheeting the seams of existence
Tearing of flesh
Transmitting a pain new to this body
Transmuting a emotion that needle thin
Heed the notion
Deep
Tearing
Flesh invasion
Moral invasion
Under a moon that signals revenge
Within a body that exploits possibility