Helpless Hate
Her pain provokes an anger deep
from within..
A hatred so ugly even the devil
himself looks in disgust as he shakes
an icy chill from his thorny spine.
Her struggle pains me..
A deep, searing pain in my chest; I
close my eyes and picture cold steel
hands ripping open my chest cavity
and tattooing words of hate and sin
on my heart itself. An excruciating
burn that ignites my insides like
Satan setting fire to a fresh
delivered batch of tormented souls..
I hate her pain. I hate her struggle.
Nay, I loathe them to my core, to
the pit of my guts, to the last drop
of blue blood from my fresh
squeezed body.
How can I help?
what can I do?
Besides sit idle and watch the love
of my life, the woman that gives me
motivation to jump to the stars and
reach my dreams, gives me the very
air I breathe in my lungs; struggle in
pain.
The look on her face as these two
things I hate torment my angel, rips
my soul right out of my body and
dangles it in front of me laughing,
mocking me as it smashes it to the
ground and stomps all over it..
"not any longer," I say to myself tugging impatiently at the pink wristband on my arm.
"I will not give up this fight."
Copyright © Vincent Rossi | Year Posted 2012
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