Marrow clots
With new tendrils
In scar tissue

Condemn the old blood
Constrict the old blood
Converge on old blood

This raiment has seen
Brought to a sheen
Greaves well machined

Some scenery
Glowing gauntlets
Pressured points

Skin shedding
Carapace peeling
Away and shredding

Exposed and vulnerable
Relentlessly venerable
Mercilessly comfortable

Unfurled and unarmored
Leeching bad blood
Curing the old flood

Purge the worms
Of thirst they squirm
In old guard storms

Hurricaned in a vane
Weather hell
Condemned names

Calling the old guard
Against the old blood
To fix the old shards

Shattered towers
Of mortal coil
Blood and bone

Red stones
Through windows
Thrown to atone

A price on a clot
With a spiracle
Bounty on naught

But the weak marrow
Which must be ploughed
And rot put in barrow

Will grow up and be
Once again
Dosed back to be

The fixer
Of ten thousand degrees

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