Monday, November 5, 2012


It starts with an action
The wrong words said here
The improper deed done there
Then I fester on it
Nurture the insult
To let it wast in the wind it to denigh feeling
I could wash the poison away with clear waters
Mental purity curing the rusted bit of thought
But the joy comes in devowering the toxin
One grievance, small or large, becomes two a eight and six
You mix with one half wistful reflection
One half demented fascination
A quarter of self justification
And mix in a bowl of passion
The batch sits for days
Months if your angry
Years if your obsessed
But the tast never goes away
You can wash parts of it out
You can find the source and return your anger
(you may or may not receive a refund)
You can try and over come the spiritual vomiting
But the bitterness
The green repetition
The fogs of doubt
And the horrid fantasies
They stay when you drink the mixture
And it is addicting

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