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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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I do not like being angry.

 

It starts a tiny bubble in my chest,

That pops and spills a shudder

Golden lightning fills my throat

At first a glowing mutter.

 

The acid burns along my veins,

That came from bubble popped

The shiver raises every hair

Until at last it's stopped.

 

My insides churn with storm enclosed,

My fury thus no limit knows

And builds and builds a creature's throne

Where now my name is not my own.

 

I love being angry.

 

The creature quickly grasps my hand,

And stifles my protest

A fleeting smile, all teeth and nails

It sets my speech to rest.

 

I see through eyes I do not know,

I hear with ears dark tainted

And if I looked in mirror hung

Not my face be painted.

 

The acid, fire, and tempests rage,

My face as white as inkless page

I beg the monster now to stay

And wailing cry to go away.

 

Can't escape becoming Angry.

 

When it leaves I'm left askew,

My puppet strings are broke

Legs and arms lay down unmoved

On fire-burnt throat I choke.

 

My eyes are streaming with the heat,

My every muscles screams

Latent images flutter by

In remembrance of my dreams.

 

I raise my face up to the stars,

I must have wandered very far

For the me of then is not there nor here

Thus Anger is my greatest fear.

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