The Slaughterator 2

My heart is violet and fuchsia-
hereto speckled in black.
The speckles black towhich are worms and daemons.
These are the artifacts gained from dealing death.

Violet is my Hieritage tofore faithful of Ben Franklin.
Violet bleeding in the hue of the Majesty of Blue,
Redemption at the twiglight of dusk and dawn,
And midnight of clocktick.

Fuchsia is the playwright and banner of therewich toils. Scribner and lexoplay of quitted verse.
Fuchsia burning in a fire-branded aura of vital yellow,
Therewith traces of cinder-burned crimson.

I am the defender, the protector, and ice-cold clinic of revenge. A Knight of quill and poiniard,
Keen is my singing edge-blade-
Black Death and hammer driven shepherding.

Live and let live, I tell.
Live and let die.

If it wasn’t for men like us,
There wouldn’t be men like us.

Forebourn a Veteran, Seasoned with mustard and mud.
Newborn of Divine Promises, and the immemorial Prophecy.
Kings Reel with delight at my toilings forewich,
Judges Fury to their Mortars foreseeth.

Harsh experience has given me penance,
And love for peace.
Experience has proven my battlecraft.

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