Nothing quite ruins your day as waking up.
Is it called a "rage"?
To yearn for another to hurt.
Cruel is the rhythm of my clockwork heart.
Pain rang in these eyes for over a year.
Still is the ocean you call a soul.
These fists curl into irons at the thought of your face.
Lightning strikes across this face.
Thunder echoes in the heart.
The waters of war begin to stir.
I hate this "man" and I feel it in my bones.