Lashing out
The burdron's weight is maxing out
Struggles of not backing out
Adrenaline rage,
Nothing can relax me now.
On the grounds
Specifically the battle field
Lashing out
How I feel.
Never to disease
Hesitating to cease
The crease between paper,
And the pen's ink that's released
that depicts my management of anger.
Nothing is odder or stranger.
I'm even in all my revenge
Believers step up to contend
Just another fate to pretend.
Hollow skulls,
Drifting down the mountain slope
My soul falls...
Ending on a silent note.

 

It's evident I don't know
how to control my lust for rage
or for the anger that's reflected
in the bloodshed I've tasted,
and everythings turning blurry again
black veins flowing with cold ink again
yet an empty stretched canvas of skin
never looked so crimson red...

I lash out repeatedly with
brash and unrational
abstract paintings of pain
from unseen brush strokes,
leaving the cuts to heal
as these stories bleed hope
and wounded memories.
I hear authors
screaming agonies
unto a stained page.
Color schemes escape
a blank death,
giving breath
to the birth of a theme.
This pointed pen
is my dream's dagger
and I grip
the sharpened tip
tightly,
as I'm writing,
another murder.