Anger - Poem by Vianka Polis
I pigment lovely pictures of deceased people in my head.
I scrutinized them all leech a pulchritudinous red.
Their bodies were bitterly cold.
Eyes abaft, the back of the head, rolled.
I burglarized their last breath.
I was accounted for their death.
Seeing them breathless gave me a relief.
Most people would resent in grief.
Mommy told me I was crazy.
Childhood was so hazy.
I stuffed the memories so far back.
Any moment of the past results in a panic attack.
The blood spill was all around my feet.
Their carcasses took defeat.
A screaming child in the room was all I could hear.
I fall to the floor, no I don't tear.
Emotions are something to never be felt.
My mind is just something that wasn't to ever be dealt.
My hands soaked in the warm blood, feeling every endorphin rush.
No longer a soul to quiet or shush.
The child screamed and screamed.
He was quite scared or so it seemed.
He sobbed knees deep in blood.
All of a sudden a loud thud.
He bashed his hands against the hard floor.
I realized it wasn't sadness anymore.
The anger blazed in his eyes.
No more sobs or cries.
Anger so fiery it burned.
His desires so quickly turned.
He stood covered in the so, so pretty red.
Fulfillment from his face bled.
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