The Catharsis of Rage

[critical mass]

I am Evil. Hurling from the dawn of man my arrowheads, my blunted knives,
my early years my dark excuse, I wallow, bathe in misery;
I've built my spa with stolen bones; your graves lie empty as old shoes.
To rage and scream on grassy hills, to bellow at the awkward sky,
a pickled fetus, stillborn, blue, is what sustains my dying soul,
that withers from the love of those who seek to cure my ailing heart,
to cover it in bandages, play rainbows on eternal loop.

This is good stuff. Won't comment on the meter cause ai suck at it.
old shoes is out of place with graves, not a good fit to me.
other than that I like it.

David