You gift me armor
In leather and spikes
Patches of property
And runes of power
Lush to the scent
That all at once
Smells of incense bombs
And demon blood
Perfumed by and
To be picked clean
Of impurity
Receiving a guard
Drawing card and sword
“I will set you free”
To drink white-hot reality
As confidence and
Incant this dogma
While pushing forward
In constant combat
To understand enchanted
Bitterness black and
Bold as a palette cleanser
Cyberdemonic stitching
Along void-of-black ink
Infusion through
These hotline spikes
Hot with electricity
Of jolts familiar
Tanned pelts of beasts
Laid waste to and
Smoking corpses skinned
To fabricate this fabric
That now drapes and
Protects, blessed
Why, the curiass
Fits just right
Consume Reality! 