Simple

No simple misfortune,
A violent disease of the blood,
I am constantly paranoid as to when I may just explode,
With a rare genetic anger, beautiful in its methodologies.

A curse from old origin,
The first drip of my substance,
To battle with my benevolence with logical negativities,
Presentations of stunning shortcomings, a catalyst to rage.

Stubborn women feed into my inability to resist the craving to dismember the mind of the oppressor,
Sly statements to pull the trigger,
Fluctuating urban tones to sharpen the bullet,
Utter disrespect to bloody the hands to confirm the kill.

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