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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I can feel this rage boiling, Bubbling to the top. I can feel it catching fire, Gathering heat nonstop. Trampled on, belittled, and used, With pain and anger suppression fused, Cap to bottle where pressure grew. A rageful burst ignites a flame, A violent urge inside creates An urgent need to purge what’s sane. So I tipped the ladle and poured my pain, Into molds I cast from my shame, Where molten bone is cooled with haste To form the blackest glass to claws and fangs. From iron ladle, fall tears like viscous drips, Drops that burn the softness from my fearful lips. Fire quickly desecrates The innocence I held in vain, My tongue reforged in Satan’s grip, Now a sharpened blade my speech equips. The blackened sneer drawn on my face, Upon my soul has left phosphorus stain. My body begins to seize and twitch, And from my mind my memory slips. Chunks of time from sight erased, Under pressure the chainmail breaks. Self-control not mine to claim, Within my bones, I feel the itch. With a second pop, my seams have split, My one body now, shares two minds. A ferocious fire burns inside, It lights the forge that brings to life A creature birthed from rage’s flame That from my being can now escape. Using my body, it contorts my frame, A primitive urge to destroy untamed. With my bladed tongue, it speaks in rhyme, That death by cane a passion’s crime. But just to show his civilized side, Chosen next be a deadly shade of night. Under shadowed fate our souls entwined, But don’t confuse his name with mine. If what you cherish is your life, It would yet be best to call him, Mr. Hyde.
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