Where are my girls?

Where are my girls?

an army of women I dreamt of,

are they just my mind swirls,

or are they euphemism?;

for the one true girl I seek,

how can it be?

for any single girl, weak,

before the army I shall die for;

in my dreams I lived true,

to all my values and cherished love

through impossible cruel orders

to my girls of my liberal view;

through them I did murders fast,

is it why my dreams untrue to last?

Why suicide?

Why suicide? when can murder,

not a metaphor,

this craving human fur,

rock the world asunder;

revenge better than pity, try,

destroy who but god high,

how kill god you ask and sigh,

kill humans here and there he cry;

don’t rush, not yet, hold the rage,

build the blood lust till it is courage,

build it in work and passion wage,

ignore cat calling worthless sewage;

someday will fly high your banner,

if ready to work with any spanner.

Murderous rage

To murderous rage the mind full lighted,
craving physicality of plunging knife deep,
to twist it to make a man die that fight led,
especially some arrogant powerful creep;

or frauds that exploited kind generosity,
the sweet talkers that stabbed in the back,
or rip a random stranger’s chest cavity,
unethical world made me want to whack;

world lied, sword mightier than feeble pen,
discard pen, thrust sword deep in a heart,
heart loving a family alone, no heart then,
no metaphor but intend to play killer’s part,

folks shall whisper, kind man in our midst,
walks with skeletal garland, sword in fist.