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Fanatic rage
and meaningless revenge.
Those narrowed eyes
glint out a marble cold.
Fenced in…aloof…alone,
The would be minotaur
pulls horns against the world.
That sulphur in the blood
flows like a venom
through the dank dark rivers
of despotic inky veins,
and poisons everything.
Insane..adrift..afloat…
In some crazed moonless,
starless leaden universe,
the chill psychotic lives…
His swiping sword
is splashed with lurid red.
His gleaming teeth
bite bullets into living flesh.
A rayless sun is born;
It brings a squalid strangled dawn.
Kristine Byrne…3rd March 2022