Lovingly and incoherently it is
nothing less than a demonic spleen
he laboriously and excruciatingly
reveals, an excrescence of hatred so
vivid it consumes his mind for he is a
lost soul that no power on Earth, not
the love of parent to child, or brother
to brother can heal. Behind him
whispering cajolingly in his ready ear
a helpmeet in an exorcism that expels
the rage of the wounded child refusing
to become an adult, secure in his
treasured victimhood, dredging up
one invention after another like frozen
icicles of revenge to stab deep into
the hearts of his hapless victims.
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