Rage is a funny creature.

It feeds on your fear to fuel your anger.

Anger is a right, often used wrong.

Explain it away.

Feel it away.

Exhausted, wish it away.

Or rage and it’s ugly hurt gets wedged in between two hard places.

Found and forgotten,

Or

Lost and shredding apart.

Screaming in your chest so loud it makes your ears bleed.

Shaking in sickness pressing trembling cold fingers to lips with begging unspoken anguish.

And then the questions.

Why?

In its purest form.

WHY.

You know what’s worse than rage?

Knowing you’ll never know.

I’ll never know.

Why.

Questions can’t be answered

If they don’t have answers.

I’m lost.

The kind of lost you can’t come back from breathing the same.

Rage always looks back.

There’s nothing back there.

The thing about beautiful things is

Every time a glass heart breaks,

Pieces get lost in the fire of sorrow

Forging shadows that stay till summer.

It’s going to be a long winter.