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Hatred Catapult

Featherless flight, encapsulating oxygen;

hell-like fire is who I am:

a corporeal substance and

at dawn I am being born.

My atomic bombs are made of hopelessness;

naught they shall see in me but hatred. 

Hail to my masters! I extend my mischievous hands

implanted by vicious men of the 1940s.


I wreck lives

to bits of their false hopes.

Schadenfreude is my pride. 

I devour tears of men; clemency is a foe!

Strike it with such force

and satisfaction lies in the sound of my borborygmus.


I breathe vileness at the top of my lungs;

releasing toxic air, annihilating every bit of race.

As thick as the fumes 

I create destiny.

Bent knees are their last resort as

they plead for mercy

reaching my brass-made hands.

Some touch my aflame horn, in return,

I bludgeon them with remorselessness

and I render unattainable salvation.


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