Wrath
Most say it starts out red.
Your boiling blood, it's blue. A seeping soul crushing blue.
Bottomless.
Replacing that red fire with a rough sea.
Uncaring. Cunning. Cold.
Like the tears flowing down in their searing salty way, the whitening of your knuckles.
The drowning obsession of your mind.
A far worse feeling drags deeper down. Into the unforgivable.
It's debilitating, degrading.
Something you once thought to be known,
Makes you stagnant in anger.
Crying turns laughing turns screaming.
You slowly succumb to that darkness,
To all other beasts.
The anger of losing someone you once thought you'd keep.
YOU ARE READING
Honey Drops and Pen Stains
PoetryTravesty, overcome by little else but life's muses; It's jokes. All of this is my original poetry, please do not steal
