Repression

I need a little release, but can’t seem to find the grease that will make the words flow and put digression to my repression so the roses aren’t red. That’s just a clever endeavor to put words on page, not subside the rage, that keeps me out of fine print. I don’t know where to begin. With original sin? Or just the context of this present perversion? I’ve got the words to retort, but can’t seem to pop the cork that releases my inner word smith.