I cannot contain this wrath anymore
Let me release this globule hollow
Let this be one of those that will move up
from under the rivers of Inferno
that will prick your heart like a needle
as you swim and clamor in the angry waters

The liquid's heat will strip off
my sanguine suit you forced to wear
on your malancholic existence
The water's putrid will be part of your breath
as you swallow and vomit its pollution
And as you desire to have acknowledged
(even by uttering in simple words) that you are a mimic

You dwell in that circle
only because I wish you to--
For my bubble to prick your heart in pain
For myself to be removed from you
For my wrath today to turn into anger, and then calmness,
and then satisfaction

You will then go to the eighth circle

And I (just wanting to make you suffer employing my own capacity),
will move out of the Inferno.

About the Author: Nicole is a hyper person who wants to get published in her college's next portfolio. She is basically an optimistic creature who loves Italy and the beach. This is actually her first anger poem. Well, temporary, short-term anger, for that matter (as in, just a 30-minute one). (She got guilty after writing it.)