45 lines

I’m colder than a polar beast / in solar reefs / with molten teeth,

My aura breathes / through coded beats / and Roman grief / in broken sleep.

I show degrees / of frozen speech / that crack the throne / of hopeless kings,

Then cloak the scene / in omen ink / where choirs choke / and sing for things.

I wrote this in a war-room throne / alone with ghost composers,

Quote the scrolls / they hold that fold / your soul in floating odours.

My tone is vicious / vocal coils / wrapped in cobra-scriptures,

Notes encrypted / lonely monks / decode through whispers / and bitter pictures.

Chrome arisen, / Zeus enraged / when Odin steps / through storm collisions,

I broke the hinges / mold my image / torn from dimensions / and blurred visions.

Your whole existence / hollow, borrowed / sorrow from tomorrow’s coffin,

I follow apostles / carving marrow / out of carcass fossils / often.

A marksman with a savage art / that fractures planets / into fragments,

Blackness snaps / the sun in half / and throws the shards / through cracked establishments.

Daggers dipped / in battle glyphs / slash the actors / in passive myths,

Then vanish quick / through Vatican crypts / where Latin anguish / lives in shifts.

Match the metaphors, / blessed with epics, / etched in pestilence / and records,

Severed sections, / crescent wrenches / spinning through / electric tempests.

Spectral tones, / desert bones, / eroded into / sediments,

Shark attacks / on darkened paths / where martyrs burn / in Leviathan elements.

Surgeon’s vision, / splitting sternums, / surgical bombs / and God’s will,

Pyramids on Mars, / where scars are stored / in vaults of lost kills.

Drop quills, / spark chills, / archives where the dark spills,

Sharpened steel / for guards that march / through Ark hills / for heart thrills.

Syllables collide, / skull like riots, / villainy leaks / through orbitals,

Glitches stitched / in thermodynamics, / pressure in my written methods.

Sun’s exposure, / cold combustion, / bone saw soaked / in rusted omens,

Black out chakras, / baptize monsters / in the monstrous oceans.

Summoned through / blood oaths, / sulfur judgment, / pain percussion,

Ruptures stomachs, / under thunder, / blades forged / from ego lies.

Grade ten trained, / Nate dropped, / beneath the weight / of sacred flames,

The Great Blaze, / razor rain, / speaking God / through ancient names.

 

I’m higher than the spire, / a wired / live-fire / supplier,

The entire / empire / retire / in funeral attire.

My creative / narrative / is purgative / and palliative,

A native / demonstrative / representative / of the sedative.

I calculate / the weight / of fate / and calibrate / the gate,

Then hibernate / in states / of hate / until I reanimate.

A limitless / glitch / in the matrix / of basic / physics,

Erasing / the scripts / of the fated / and hated / critics.

My breath / is a blizzard, / a wizard / with a visceral / lizard / brain,

Deliverin' / shivers / that quiver / and sever / your veins / in the rain.

It’s over / the shoulder / of soldiers / who smolder / and boulder / their grief,

Until the Great Nate / is the only weight / that remains / in the deep.