The agowilt that consumes a weak cognizance.
Layers of musky mourning mount upon the unsuspecting,
It hides, the membrane, but punctures the soul.
A behemoth of conquest,
The heart cultivates a malformed morsel of pain.
The schadenfreude grovels at sorrow’s feet,
He grabs its ankles, clenching an eerie power.
This, his solstice, brings upon acerbity,
And the taste incenses him.
Suddenly tighter, the veins of the inert threat burst.
Yanking the body, its bones splinter, as he gives no time for it to react.
Fully submissive, the power is thrust upon virtuous depths.
The sickened form crushes others with its broken body.
Only if he is allowed.
See, it is quite simple to prevent this quagmire, this fusillade.
Even to shave the casing from previous shocks,
Ignore the pestering collywobbles.
You are no sophist,
Realize what is within,
That strength buried by the quivering falsity that coats your mind.
Soon this coating will wane,
A threadbare skin dusted away.
Soon the ember of veracity ignites,
Your quaesitum shows its cherubic features.
Peel back the obstacles of pain.
Only then will this innocence hidden by brittle remarks emerge.
Fear of other can fade only if replaced by an opaque mist of self.