Cross Me

Tirades - in the form of clenched fists, and corrupt thoughts.
No need for words, no need for penitence.
The only regrets you will have - will be your swollen eyes.

Multiply the barrage of jabs and add the number of scars.
Count the blisters, and bruises - feel the gash and the blood.
My blinding rage equates to your pitiful demise.

Make pacts with the devil and pray help to god.
For you'll need an army - of angels and demons - to stop me.

I'll have it - so that fortune only favors the bold.
Thus, what comes around will never go around.
Karma - your fate is clenched in these gripped fingers.

Agony, pain and sorrow - is what your tattered body will scream.
I will silence it in fistfuls and in jubilant glee.

Cross me - I dare you.
I will beat you senseless with articulate palms and poetic verses.
You will not see the light of day - for these fists will make night.