Blackheart Ghosts Poem by chris bowen

bleeding, feeding, ever needing, the post be eating a comma still, we wont we will a daumer deal.to the field so bloody, no news too muddy.i wont fuddy duddy and get a buddy.this is my mix a match.i kiss i thrift, i feel a snatch.a hatch do good, a ride we would.come a should a farmer would.to the daumer who does requests, forget bullet proof vests.in the chest goes the mark of the cross, and the lady of the flaws, get summer saws and tear a people apart.we are the blackheart, to start.