I MEET WITH ANGER THROUGH TIGHTENING FIST, THROBBING VESSELS WITHIN MY WRIST. EYES OF RED, WISHING DEAD, THOSE UPON MY WRITTEN LIST. HATRED BUILDING TO A CLIMATIC SEQUENCE. EVALUATING MY PLAN WITH REPETITIVE FREQUENCE. ANTICIPATING THEIR CRIMSON FACES, A LOOK OF HORROR FROM THEIR BLOODY PLACES. THIS LETS MY HATRED RELINQUISH. GOING THROUGH THE ROUTINE, CUTTING EYES, CUTTING SPLEEN, SEEING THE BLOOD IS MY RUSH WITH LOVE, LEAVING MY MIND A BITTER CLEAN.
THIS TALK IS OF THE MILD KIND, IT IS THE FRUIT WITHOUT THE RIND. TO SAY IT AT ALL, IS ONLY MAKING THE CALL, YOU MUST PUT ASIDE AND DO THE TIME.
