He is
He is a ticking time bomb
A chemical reaction
A fire loaded with liquor
He waits for the hour
When his carnage craving fist will
Rage against the chrysanthemum covered wallpaper
Without his will
And when the pitied pots in his garden out back
Will be shattered with such force
That only minuscule shards lay on his kitchen floor
Soon to be stuck in the heel
Of his limping leg
And his knuckles are doused in sticky crimson
That he is so eager to show off
And the reason behind this
This urge for self destruction
He is made of up wrongfully combined substances
A fission of all the wrong things
He is massacre in human form
Eradication at the hands of everyone and everything
Simply put,
He is caesium 137
YOU ARE READING
he/him/you
Poetry[completed] some half assed thoughts i've had about unrequited love and unnecessary hope shattering revelations
