Rage (TW- violence)

Rage 

High and high i go, above all my sense and wit

A color too dim and bright.

My blood ripples in an ache; an ache to swirl in a swamp of blood not mine

A thought too wrenched and wrought, for the cause of obliteration.

My mind kindles visions for violence; an act of violence seeming lustrous behind my hinge

A brute too heinous and horrendous; with sputtering will to annihilate.

My soul craves for rest, but the detonated living of mine doubts to promise one

A rest too ideal and infinite. 

My conscience tells me not to get tricked; I have been smeared with conviction and conflict.

An angel long fallen and dead; commenced to demolish a place too sacred and serene.

(thank you for reading!🤍)