You could call me the grim reaper
The fundament on this island of one.
I am the diatribe that catapults you
from rhonchus vibrations of hostility
and into cold sweats, the reach of my
devastation creeping into even the
most peaceful of your nocturnal emissions.
I have devoured the advertising of your
infelicitous bagio, that shameless flaunting
of glistening limbs and organs, primordium
within, of which I shall indulge. You are mine.
You can expect to be bent over in violation,
stripped of all you have willingly withheld.
You can expect my undying adoration.
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