P

Impulse

You call me a beast
It's  ironic that you should be holding a chain round my throat persecuting me of how I, a simple emotion. Are the beast in this tail. 
 It's certainlyatrue that I am but an impulse, a sensation that cascades through your unfeeling unpleasured flesh. But you created me with your lust. 
You star at people not thinking what a Normal person thinks. You have these lude thoughts of unnatural sexuals. Things unbecoming of a young human. 
You call me the beast of lust but you are the beast that masterbates to feed his starving hunger.
Fire a bullet into your Brain 
Let it fly like a plain
Die alone in your room 
All alone like a dirty kitchen broom. 
©poetryvall