In the stopover of March 3
My poem crashed on my head
I tarried in my pen

Full scars I have casted
A few soul crimes
Scads of sickness
A smarting Heartache

That was when Truth Divinity
Bruised my blood coffin
To be your fiend
A hurting lover’s pinch
To befriend an immortal friend

Smarting torture
Full scars I have casted,
detained my fictive horror
detached your pain

Full scars I have casted
Retouching your palm
Executing my sour sore
Afar.