Stem Of The Flower. - Poem by Tyton Toste
This is rage, this is power.
This is the stem on the flower.
This flower being a fight, a good one at that.
This rage will ignight, one man shalt fall flat.
These are my dreams, shattered by you.
These are my thoghts, let me take them into veiw.
These are my emotions, I hope I hid them well.
These are all the Goddamn things you have thrown to hell.
My fist and your mouth, I'm taking no more shit.
My blissful shout, as i toss you into the pit.
My ears are ringing from your screams of pain.
My mouth recites a quote, 'life's only a game'
People gather around to see the fuss.
People cheer us on, only for my battle lust.
People in a circle chanting, 'fight, fight'
People dont care who gets hurt, they stone into the night.
Blood spills from our noses, grasping attention.
Blood flows from our open wounds, i have quite the reflection.
Blood is what the spectators want, isnt it?
Blood is your loss, having your sight lose it.
No forgivness for your wrongs, I hope this is a phase.
No mercey, my grip, your scream, my sinnful gaze.
No start for the blackened youth, hate me always.
No time to explain the truth, smokey hallways...
This was rage, this was power.
This was the simple stem of a flower.
This flower being a fight, a grand one at that.
This rage did ignight, already one man falls flat.
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