Absolute Lute

The endless shapes of whispers ornament my sense of existence, coloring my "80 percent red, 09 percent red, 11 percent red" blood: What kills the very insanity that
keeps my neuronal wiring hot
repulsing impulses of my
absolute lute
mentality's sharp strings? If
I reatain my sanity, couldI absurdly absorp reality?

Congrats!
You've just witnessed my dissection of a concept quest. And
If you're asking where you at. Welcome to
the the Devil Finch's secret nest.
You may call it a trap, but I insist,
do your best.