Thursday, November 12, 2015


Red and roiling
Bubbling, boiling
Seething and churning
Blinding and burning
I see those eyes staring and fierce
Death is poised my soul to pierce
Mouth a grimace
A yearning furnace
Grin like a jackal's
My breath locked in shackles
This is what I see
When anger appears I flee
Even in smallest degree
In fear I raise my plea
Don't kill me!

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