Red fixed eyes day by day,
Down on little helpless prey.
The stars fall directly upon me,
As the trees sway violently with glee.
The blood rushes with furious delight
Upward until my face turns red.
My conscious lost; my tolerance dead.
Onto opposition with intentional smite,
As my thoughts turn vacantly white.
�What�s a temper without its aggressor?�
Asked the wise man to his wife�
From his back she pulls her knife.
Then blood boils over with a blur,
With a temper, nothing is pure.
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