2004-02-24

Anger

The thick fog lingered over the dried weeds that were stained with blood. Flesh stood freshly scraped by the sharp edge of a golden dagger. Two hands shake as they grip the black coat that covers a sea of anguish and cold sweat.

Anger is more of a raging tempest with lacerating winds, and hale that thirsts for the blood laying underneath your flesh.

Anger is the impetus that thrusts your heart out through that miserable chest of yours�the heart palpates every time more intensely than the last.

Anger is the piercing and agonizing scream that the demon releases under the arsenic moon. May the putrid poison corrode the soft flesh inside that miserable throat�

Alas, stumble through this miserable hell like a flesh-puppet�you can�t really do anything, can you?

aeka at 2:05 p.m.