Aggression

Writing

Misplaced aggression that linger upon my lips as I lash out with a volcanic pressure; Hidden truths that still carry the harsh fires of demonic fires from the metaphorical abyss people fear, Slanderous words that were proceeded by adjectives that taunt my mental state.

Tactics to find harmony between the soul and mind, which leave my mental in a state of constant rebuttal to the hectic words of pitiful advice that were murmured more than breaths were taken by the ones who spoke them.

I have a fierce grip on the past and I’m waiting for someone to pry it from my cold dead hands. Time that was spent and utterly wasted will be robbed away from ones who don’t deserve it.

Repeating to myself that this is simply a phase, and the end is near. The dark photographs I’ve snapped constantly with my mind and pinned upon a canvas to stare at and hopefully find a bigger meaning into the bitter sensation that has been rising through my soul like the temperature of concrete paths plastered across the world’s barren grounds and injected with the heat of the sun’s rays.

There’s a foreign genius that comes forth from my awkward mentality is a rare occurrence and the random chance that I can bring forth my potential is just as rare.

I’ve failed to use this genius to let go of the aggression and angry thoughts.

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