You know your identity details, you bodygrabbing morphers; so GET LOST!: A poem 

(Do you want to have the bodies and eat them too!)

Do you think I am a lucid sky 

that wants to fall into your drainpipe 

I just think that I have my walls 

strengthened in every handicap 

I feel enraged at times, but my humour 

prefers the mockery of all such treachery 

that wants to take the flowers I’ve nourished 

and feed it to their hungry graves 

I am not even fully aware of my abilities 

so, you wouldn’t fancy your capabilities of 

stripping off my armour, and finding me dead 

but discover hard as crystal even my inner vulnerable self! 

The fishy hobgoblins did foolishly underestimate the elf!

I am not your fate-kissed toy; even if you would fancy a boy 

because you faggots are no homos, but a devious sapiens’ ploy 

I just need to shut you out of every threshold 

of my love; so you can’t keep impounding my trove!   

You are no shamans of spirituality, you are cohorts in a devious plot 

You are shapeshifters to the dot, to transfuse your toxins in my lot 

Prakash Saint Paul grabs and eats my every end of head 

to compel an evil victory to Anthony Albanese’s fishy tail!