Fury

Hot.
Hot... hot hot.
Boiling rages of fourteen hundred suns.
An uncontrollable ambivalence, a tranquil sort of hostile take over.
Churning, churning, uncharismatic.
Totally spewing.
Crazy, conscious flailing.
The need to break something.
The need to break someone.
And then the source comes.
The source makes the river, clashing and eroding.
Rock slide.
Avalanche from the silent voices of innocent looking facades.
Wondering if the pilot should give a FUCK at all.

by Verasailles
posted on 04/27/2008