Good Anger

It is the crutch I hobble on,
As old as I and ten-fold strong

To try and knock it out is folly
Without my fire I’m on the dolly

Sorrow lives and breeds in I
There’s just one reason I won’t die

The brimstone whispers, bloodshot eyes
My skin is molten (Below disguise)

My laughter is the same as screams
(Visa versa) Shouting’s LOLS to me

Without the heat there’s only cold,
Quenching ingots breaks their moulds

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