Howl on a bloodstone: belt out your pain

Last month in 1957, US. Customs seized hundreds of copies of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl.
Today, Howl is free to hang around the shelves of many libraries, no longer subject to massive protests. I, thus, felt inspired to write a little piece.

Grand self-loathing is like a toxic spill
Overwhelming the senses and infecting the pores
Radiating pain for all in its path

The water is starting to run cold
No longer nourishing and soon callously overflowing
With jagged voices and wheezing tears

No exit strategy other than a poison pill
After waging through multiple love-battle tours
And incurring pointed wraths

There is no way this ends right without a blindfold
The bitter memories vivid and ire foaming
Causing venom to fill the former love spheres

This is past the point of ill will
Nothing left but to try to soar
from out under this jagged-glass mud bath

You are released, no longer bound to the mold
We are bloodstone, strength forth spilling
Belt out your pain and roar until you are seared

Inspired by the weekly challenge