rushed poems

i do,,

i've grown tired
of the neverending anger
it ain't a flame
it's not gonna make
my creativity flow any brighter
it's a disease that
eats me up inside
it melts my brain
makes it drip out of my ears
nose, and mouth
blocking out every sound
other than my own screams
i do see my mother crying
i do, i do,, i do
-kuura