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fuck you all.
blood runs heavy
fists become unsteady..
you wrent worth the fight..
but i did it for a thing called love...
but i shouldnt have.
i dont defend lying cheating fools..
you werent worth the fight...
fuck your story.. fuck your defense..
if shit didnt go wrong in the offense i would have fuckin slit all those bitches throats..
loud ass drunk relentless HOES..
i didnt do it for you. i did it for me!
there was so much anger instore for the spauntaneous...
that i took it out on themm...
i did it for me you fuckin piece of shiit!
... and im still not satsified.
its not over.
theyre fucking dead.
they dont fuckin know me... they wont ever know me..
but theyl get to know the fire that i have to offer them.
Damn! Lot of anger. Hope
Damn! Lot of anger. Hope you're okay.
Copyright © morningglory
Talkin' Hormones, Batman!
Anger and disgust in poetry - artfully done. No stone unturned, thts my modddellle (at ateteen, I couldn't spell either - but it gets picked up with reading - so glad you dropped the rhymes). What is a metaphor worth anyway? Keep us in the mix - this one is the best so far. (She's alright HW, it's screamin' hormone syndrome - you remember those "I hate the world and everything/one in it because I feel I'm not being given my propers?" Don't you remember that? I do: May every poety in the world be well ~~A~~