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Simply see the impossibly, monstrous monstrosity, of a task such as repenting.  

Unrelenting spirit chants dispensing "The sin see", 

within me, convincing me I'm,

Da Vinci.  Redesigned.

I'm simply Divine, dividing the line between the walls the cretans mauled, 

and feeling fine while stealing rhymes, stricken on-lookers look on appalled.

I'll intertwine with rhyme, as I vilify hidden behind, the combined mind of my pair of fine victors.

Whispers, whiskers, when heard, wit spurs, whisked cures of my wizards.  

Which stirs?  Which stirred?  Witch stirred?  Wit pure?  Wiccars? 

Bicker and befuddlement in a beaker, break the barrier my beseechers, berserkers, but which will be the speaker?

The pair that shocks themselves, a paradox, like a pair of docs worn on two hands.  

Ambidextrous world, dialectic hurl, dyslexic swirl, hurdle to untwirl knotted curls of rotting pearls amidst the clotting ploy sinister boy, eclectic girl.

Three lance-a-lots later entranced in rotten costumed vapor, he who be-holds be-tween the layers Ascends and ensnares a most savoring flavor.  

Unscaythe words! 

Obscene tailored genius beauty in a cloak, 

like "The Raven" by Poe.  

Get the joke?

The ravings destined to evoke evolution as they spoke, "rest in peace to me?  what a hoax!".

Nothing graven means don't paint me in a grave again no graveling I'm banging the gavel jury concludes it's time to unravel mysterious sin, hurry you two.

Most serious when my spirit I send through hoaxes curious bend for deliriums end.  

Fear was once lent to the senses, since then been a spear on the side the dimension.

Sense then the scented lament of the demented intended pretension intent on dispersing unnerving unrelenting pretending.

This curse on the earth I'm mending lending pen wings to my pen pals, pent up penitence that penetrates the perp pending the penmanship, tighten the woah-mans grip.   

Fret not Babylonia, Daddy's home for ya, only the bad he roams, the cast out domes, who've been stoned,  two I love atop thrones.

Fret on Babylon, if you babble on, once I'm done dabbling in, your saddled in, and I'm gone.

Allow me to paint the patter of chitter chatter as was it rather to be.  That is to say, backwardly.