Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him.

Louis L'Amour

I saw you on the bus today:

same face and dissolute hands

writing my permanent damages,

crucifying me among the doves.

-----an ecstatic meeting-----

I shrank behind a man,

the past squeezed me. Dull ache.

-----fear made flesh-----

I mourned my close communion

with rage, abjuring eternity,

solidifying air.

-----nobody could touch my despair----

(God, say you care, say you care)

My hesitant body betrayed me

-----enemy mine-----

The past squashing my eyes,

crushing my boundaries, obscuring

my present, auguring darkness.

(Oh! God shot me to hell)

I was isolated in my cold professional

indifference, tossing petals, bleeding,

reading my own epitaph again.

-----I killed you with my pain-----

You couldn't run

-----it was such a fun-----

Devil in me was so fast:

I killed you today

(in my haunted madness)

But you took something

from me. I think it was

my past.

Karla Bardanza

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