to summon at will
like the cold rage in your eye
rage consumes you
stark dead wood struck by lightning
I am so afraid
My poems are tender / they speak of love / and longing / and smut / and hope
NOT filth like you.
Lightning glints in your hand
cut down the tree and let it consume the forest
Let the giant oak be, and ensure annihilation
Blades end journeys soon.
Too soon for you, bastard.