A flash of patience,
In the whole,
In dire need, to take a soul.
Around the corner,
Flourish in the bowl,
The scrunger is the mole.
In which you seek,
The toll of hearts,
So render, so deep.
Screams of embalmment,
Distinctively looking around,
Seeking,
Peeking.
In ones soul,
Devouring the mole.
Arising in the centre,
Placement is the stranger,
Thus finding it arousing.
Placing its soft caress.
Wildfire spawning,
For ones soul.