Life, Death, and Pringles.

The Tempest Within

Rage, the beast that stalks the soul,
A creature born of love and misery's toll,
A creature that prowls and tears and devours,
A demon that knows no mercy, only power.

It's like a sea that boils and churns,
A maelstrom of emotion that roars and burns,
A force that can crush and destroy,
And leave a heart, shattered like a toy.

It's like a storm that rages within,
A tempest that tears at the skin,
A force that can never be tamed,
And leaves a soul, forever maimed.

Rage is a dark and twisted lover,
A force that binds with chains like no other,
It can consume, it can devour,
And leave nothing but ashes, forever.

But still, the heart seeks its embrace,
As if it's the only way to find its place,
For in rage, there is a twisted kind of love,
That gives meaning to the pain, and rises above.

And so the battle rages on and on,
A war between love and misery, forever gone,
And in the end, only the victor will remain,
But whether it's love or rage, it's all the same