The anger swells like inflated limbs
tossed in the shuffle of animalistic
dancing; we march to the rhythm of
our guerrilla tactics; move from the bedroom
to the kitchen before he hears;
speak absently, while whispering
'cause he might be listening.
We are mad; our blood runs thick
through our veins... we bleed
the same way. We're flesh and blood,
fresh or coagulated... it's still red and as
thick as our accent filtering
through our poetic musings
when we recite and scream
rhymes we recycle.














Comments
i love this <33 i really do. i think it's because of the relevance to blood, which hapens to fascinate me <3
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Die; I wanna die for something
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Then again, I can be horribly wrong (it's happened before) so don't go by my opinion alone.
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