A witch-like look and act, tempered as bubbling lava
A bitch-like tone of voice and knife-like words of choice
A lioness stating her grounds with a silence framed by grunts
There is a time where manners are forgotten, flown-away banners
Calmness is really nowhere nor in body nor in soul nor in a poem
The air, thick with resentment; imprinted in my breathing
A present hurting like incrusted mine-shell fragments
There is no ritual in my ways that can help me heal this rail
No prayers that could be said, no letter that should be mailed
No truths exchanged face to face, no lies defaced through shame
No reward in time, no simple acceptance, only a fraudulent promise
Saving no route for the roaring fire, the streak of my meanness rises
Burning by old time hired ghosts taking form, pushing away soul
Without contention, violently blown by my child-like insurrection
Inherited madness thrown onto the world, like an invisible infection
