anxiously beating around its four-captured corners,
to make its great escape
blazing the Imagination with great Conflageration.
Being pent up for so long, it
attempts to leave my desert-crack-lined tongue,
but only futility follows up.
Trying for the window of my soul,
the latches have been nailed tight.
But finally, flying like
molten lava-maimed wax bullets
It finds its path,
moving with rage through my chest,
passed the tendents and mucus-muscles of my arms,
to my very finger tips.
Letting loose a massacre of a not-so-impressive
My maniacally-manic manneristic of scripture
has long been desired, but rarely have I
blown the dust and debris off of my pen-ly quilled paper.
But ill take this Fire, and this Slated State,
and I'll massacre and blood ridden these white-lined grassy plains,
and set the world Ablaze.