I. Must. Suppress. This purposelessness,
this purpled stain upon my pride.
This wanton rage fueled by wonton soup
and emptiness, tired of being ordinary
thirsting for some super power soup.
Black cowardly bile rises bitter,
and I must choke down the realization
of my own internal weakness
before the frustration fuse blows.
Insignificant ant, so easily crushed.
Insult added to injury by my lackadaisical
attitude, I am ruled by laziness.
Chained to a wall of my own making
I can only rant and rage poetically
from the constraint of my own heart
where I trapped myself, all alone.