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Poetry By: aaihalbs

The feeling of anger.

Submitted:Jul 20, 2012    Reads: 10    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   

It is a fire of an unnatural source
Never to be matched in size or force
I will die before it runs its course.
It cannot be soaked, smothered, nor killed
An immortal flame, from birth instilled
And I will die, left unfulfilled.
It corrupts my mind, my very soul
Makes me do things, lose control
Burning endlessly, a sinister goal,
I will die before it takes its toll.
I can not think, can not breathe
A constant reminder that will not leave
For my thoughts, I constantly seethe
So fierce death can bring no reprieve
I am so weak, I crave such power
To deliver you your final hour
The idea of revenge has long gone sour
I only wish to permanently scour
You're filth, all filth.


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