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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