Wrath

Wilderness.
I've returned from a picture of a bloodied beast
mauling a dirty man.
A painter's red is half violence,
half the will to murder his psychopathic self.

Red skies, red grass;
a bloodied scenery.
A robot stood and bled tears;
a killer who never kills.
Nothing.
Leaving behind a severed leg,
two arms with bones extruded,
a brainless head,
a ear chewed in half,
a broken heart.

A defiled man desecrated a shrine,
fucked it with his tortured penis;
drilled a hole in his heart,
fucked it hard.

Drowning in bloodied feces;
sawing off his middle finger and leaving it on earth.
He died very miserably.
The bloodied beast was unsatisfied.
It devoured itself.
It fucked itself.

I left the wilderness.
I hid in my bedroom.
I cut my left arm, sliced my left arm off;
I bled to death.