The scheming wench
The slutty shrew
The implied connotations
Of a bitter brew
——–
We do not think
Nor pause to sleuth
When feelings state
The utter truth.
When we just know
We are in the right
We will not let
Facts mar our sight
——–
We tell, we claim
We forcefully state
Our feeling dredged
Through utter hate
These word may seem
So tired and trite
But we’ve all fought
Our rightful fight
——–
Within the halls
Of our coursing blood
With passions raging
We kill with love.
Stop.
Think.
Pause.
Reflect.
When I respond
To your words
With my impassioned Beliefs
The red haze of certitude
Will cloud those words
And we will lose ourselves
Once more
To the spiralling winds
of madness.
Disjoint Wisdom 