Poetry

Cold Rage

Hate.
Such a small word,
large in implication,
both benign and malignant.

The word to describe my feelings about you
goes so far beyond hate
as to shame the very creation of the word,
puts blush to the face of the whored concept of contempt,
and marks the reputation of justified bloody rage.

Within this feeling is the cold,
blistering rage of the blade that waits
and waits
and waits…

The calculating vigilance of revenge
sitting behind the gelatin of my eyes
as I smile at you.

Knowing this damns me,
if damning be true,
I realize that I would,
without hesitation,
brave the horrors of Hell forever
for your screams to be my everynight lullabies…

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