Wrath Poem by Nick Patrick

Wrath



Paralyzed in torment the body lies still
Mixing and churning the insides at will
Calculating nerves spreading necessities
Everlasting more, growing these intensities
The scourge of torture do their work
Undressing the soul at maximum torque
Until blackness devours every last fibre
And consuming anger becomes subscriber

It peels, it stings, it aches, it rings,

This cancer that is taking my red pump
Must end now, it must form the stump
Of the tree that killed me, my former self
And placed all my riches up on that shelf
That can never be reached nor ever be sold
This goddamn place! This goddamn cold!
I am condemned by you, you savage, you fiend!
I am dirt in a place that can never be cleaned

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