The wrath of my being lingers on.
Like the smell of the sea on the breeze.
I know in time I'll be dead and gone,
the thought comes with ease.

I sit here at this lonely keyboard,
typing to no-one but a ghost.
Spilling the problems, problems that I hoard,
to the ones that mean the most.

My mind is like a raging bull,
my thoughts the red sheet.
I charge and charge with constant will,
the sword has blood in its sheath.

Being a psychotic freak, a darkened soul
I seem to forever be.
The entire world from pole to pole,
is grey for eternity.