Anger

Anger

In hazy days I lean upon my staff,
rancid breath heavy with sweat and tensioned fury,

Red feelings behind my eyes, and I see her bloodied before me.
I see her sweet white neck, ready to break, bitten, mauled from her head.

Feel the warmness bathing me.
I slather myself in her life.
Its pulse lights up my heart.

My hands, hands grasping for her head. I will destroy it, rip it, push it, sqeeze it, eat it, feel it - her skull, break.

She is mine; eaten, she is nothing.
She lays dead even before I began.

I see the future. I know her taste. She is sweet,
like warm honey. She is my feasting blood. She heals me and sets me free.

She is anger. She is power. She is defined, precise, unleashed. She is uncontrollable rage. She beats fists of hated arms and salavates over your dread corpse.

There is no end to anger. I love it. I need it. Her breath is mine and I give her life.