Is it always fair to rage, I see fire and yet the heat it gives off threatens to burn me from the inside and whatever could douse it, sweat, blood, tears, ink, cannot extinguish such feelings. “Vial Rage”, I think I shall not rage
And I would call it a plague
how this fever infects
me, I sweat
summoning up the blood
which can never assuage
the disgust, the dirt, my name is mud.
Better though, tears for fears,
than this need to purge, to clear.
I lock the monster in its cage
the white walls of the page.
A mad world of ink,
kink, mystique, doublethink
Don’t rage, rage
Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.