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Waking Anger.

I, waking to an output of sound,
To an outrage of screams all around,
Give these tears of happiness for pain,
The decoration of what kept me sane.
Dreamless nights, and seamless kites,
Needless deeds, and seedless trees,
A fearless fear, and a tearless tear,
To justify what coursed me sick,
In a nightmare on a decision to pick.
I caress the grass between my feet,
The soft, grained, and gritty sand in my teeth.
I sooth the hurt, broken, and grotesque scars,
Of that love, that was once ours.
And while the sharp, bent, and rugged glass in my bed,
The unfocused, blurry, and loud memories in my head,
The smiles, laughter, and happiness in the pit of my empty pool,
The drowning, stripped, and interrupted self I call a fool,
The gunned, fake, and saturated blood in my veins,
And the deadly, belligerent, crushed, pathetic, worried,
Quiet, grounded, torched, and forgetful love of my heart dies,
I will scream, and look to the skies.
I will pray for your death once again,
And your death is what I shall receive,
My friend.





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