Angst

To the heavens I give thanks
For my pure and lovely angst.

The septicemia that cuts like a knife.
The motivating factor of my life.

Open jaws prepared to bite,
The mournful howl of wolves at night.

It burns inside my soul and brain
My angst it drives me like a train.

A lonely whistle as it blows,
The glistening thorns on a bloody rose.

Once again let me give thanks
For my pure and lovely angst.