Dying, living,
Fading, growing,
is there even a difference?

Anger, yes.
Oh, yes.
I
can
feel the
horrors
and it is a comfort to know
that I still have
the ability
to actually
feel something,
anything...

it wafts from your writing
like red, animaic lines
that cause mania
and madness
like the roots
you speak of.

but i know anger too.

i know now what it feels like to want
nothing more than to smash
a windowpane
and watch it's pieces
embed themselves
in the eyes that hurt
you beyond compare
and even those
that didn't.

I know the unwanting,
the unfeeling,
the uncaring.

And I feel it.

Because I am no longer a fellow silvertongue, oh no.
I am but
a simple
machine.