The Thought Of I Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

I'm, bless, it means living, needs, face man, malice, its threats feeds, weeds; deemed active thoughts: not wanted factor deeds.

A soul awaits its might, a man's appearance, sight of a killer, pick destroyer, confront, to fight hunter; alright: perceive as prey.

A loner, from an inimical Order depart said, resist, decree, put pins laid, any help, don't aid a journey; did raid: its foretold fate.

I, expel gasp out, from a crack, a vermin, fleeing a grasp, yet wasp, escapes benign Order; awaiting I: curled on self as this asp.

A path, for any answers, cross space, its void, all alone, at help, toss, gloss skies, call, seek luck; of a boss: that shelters a life.

Escapee, at target, desire hit, freeing me, from this pain pit, defy a river rush hot spit, crushes at a bit; an evil devil: known lies.

Real horror, I know, got a performance, to flow felt this life, feel facts mirror, reflect show; said reality an error: it is true terror.

A personal story, told as fact, conveys sad reality, attempted impact dated, tells act, years compact; bare life: no more than I.