a poem for the angry
Ive got the scissors in my hands
The words make a cover over my face
This helplessness lying under legs
The screaming is unnecessary disgrace
Scissors equal wounds
And scissors equal death
But scissors cut and correct things
Like these scissors will correct your breath
Ur breathing patterns make me mental
The scissors quickly shake
My hand will let go and scissors will drop
Unless your breathing I break
My arm is anticipating
Waiting so anxiously
Theres noise coming from your mouth
You yell so childishly
My head is spinning
My ears are burning
My brain is overwhelmed
My insides are churning
All of this is perpetual
My shaking wont stop
Your screaming wont either
And the scissors wont drop
Im at the end of my roots
With my initial intention
And when my deed is done
Of this ill never mention
I raise them up high
The scissors descended into you
Something appears
And it’s a new hue
This crimson red stained
It ran down the floor
Like the wind chases clouds
It stained until it could no more
The scissors were scarlet
As well as my hand
Everything was inflamed
Just as I had planned
The weapon was engraved
Within a perfect body
The scissors gave the kiss off
Now im haughty
But the scissors weren’t fulfilled
They weren’t satisfied
Everything was masterfully flawless
But It wasnt an acceptable joyride
The scissors weren’t guilty
and didn’t want a habit
but had a veiled goal
it was one last target
im still holding the scissors
in blood they were dressed
thoughts in the mind of the scissors
the last and the best
im still hovering over you
im no longer mental
because your breathing is gone
your touch is so gentle
but the breathing was contagious
and soon enough I catch on
the scissors wanting injection
its nearly dawn
the stunt must be over soon
the blood covered scissors get its last victim
I got myself right in the chest
I released myself to freedom
But it was the scissors fault
And the scissors are a she
The scissors kill you and I
The scissors were me
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