the blood that boils without passion,
the scream that awakens the process,
the anger that burns with distress.
The tide of fury cast far out to storm in,
As an invasion of an army chasing the spoils if they win,
this evil takes me taking all in my path,
the chance of victory for my foes, thou not hath.
Whilst in that state thine mind is volatile,
the voice charges me with mayhem all the while,
whispering lingers numbing my brain , how dull,
the forked tongue acting and scratching my inner skull.
The speed that it grants is swift and unmatched,
and agility that allows me to be hard to catch,
for such a power you would think I abuse with glee,
the paradox is absurd as this power abuseth thee.
I have no recollection and the vaguest of aftermaths,
when jeers turn to tears,
my memory slashed in half,
How do I calm?
How do I stop?
How do I enchant my recovery?
I merely hope and pray.