The fury calls to me, screams with spent lungs, slams hands to ground and tears trees from roots as it claws for my company, but I have changed. Fury is no longer my blade. When I strike I do so as a ribbon of silk cuts air. The fury screams to be free and now I hold him capped in logic bottles so that when lid be cracked beams of plasma burn away any fool who would challenge me today. No my fury still exist. But now fist are not thrown but my enemies are! With every strike they try and land I am faster than eyes can flash because my fury is held in hand not let loose to trip this man. Oh I have him capped and capped and capped and this I warn you all with all dire truth, as winds they howl outside, and weather dark and blue, do not allow yourself to be the fool who with unrelenting drive get me to break my bottle free. For I will break all fingers that horrid day and pound head to head and yours will be the one to cave. Oh I will let loose with all my hate and fury will not be word strong enough to describe my elated destroying pain that will not relent until you are a liquid mess made ready for the drain. But until that day, fear my capped fury all the same. -kid
Posted on: Wed, 13 Nov 2013 12:10:36 +0000
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