My headlong anger lays dormant like a Dragon,
Lingering to be awoken and unleashed into the world.
It sponges all the tiny things that I let in, Lies; Idiocy; and parabolic sin,
The kind you get from Tramps clamped in a Junkies grip.  

Niceties come with a flicker of Salt,
Because no one; and I mean no one brings Roses to a boy who strolls among the living.
Hot coals scold my soul; intensified as if doused in malt,
Then anger ravages my thoughts and forces itself in control.

I can't sway my anger; picture what it'd do if I even thought,
It'd grasp me by the throat; levitating me inches from the floor,
Squeeze its fiery nails seamlessly into my skin,
And tear out my soul; swallow it whole; leaving me high and dry in a shallow bowl;
Of sin.