I feel angry, I feel angry because she doesn’t understand that I want to respect her, I want to admire her more than I already do, but she keeps asking me to hate her. Shes is greater, so much greater than I can dream of becoming, and I revere her knowledge, but she condemns me. She tells me I know nothing of what matters in a respect and it remains true, I do not, She tells me I know nothing of the things that will change my world and it remains true, I do not. But she doesn’t understand, she doesn’t understand that it will change my world, but not most worlds. She doesn’t understand that I care, that I seek more, that I revere, she doesn’t understand that perhaps, a little kindness, a little gentleness would do no one any harm. She makes me angry.
He makes me angry. Angry for the memories that have passed us by that matter no more to him. He looks at me and it affects him not in the slightest any longer. His eyes, once deep pools of mystery and fascination now drown me with their lack of emotion, lack of sentiment. He walks away and it matters no more to him, I end with a turn, I cease with a goodbye, I die with a replacement. Not a replacement for me, but my spot, A spot. Memories forever churned to dust, beautiful, pure, sacrosanct memories forever decimated in the hollow of his eyes, in the callousness of his hug, in the placidity of his words. He killed them, I immortalize them, we continue to fight our binaries. His binary is less painful, less burdensome, He makes me angry.
They make me angry. They can still hope, they can still dream, they can for once live, and I can’t feel happy. I feel a foreign pang of jealously, of envy, emotions so unknown to my heart. They deserve more, and I can no longer give them anything, I can no longer be anything but a burden, they make me angry.
He makes me angry. He makes me angry because when he needed me, I left him, I blamed him, I scorned him, and now I stand in his shoes and I feel guilty. I feel damnable, perishable, I feel karma. I feel justice and it feels so right yet so wrong. I feel so broken. He makes me angry.
She makes me angry. Shouldn’t she simply understand? Isn’t she my better half? Shouldn’t she be of some help? Perhaps I was mistaken all along, or maybe, our roads diverge from here. I had a different future planned out for us. She was my everything and was meant to stick around forever. The thought of this splitting branch hurts so much. I am made to feel silly, to feel betrayed by fate itself, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This was meant to be forever. She was meant to be forever. Why does she not feel it? Why does she not see it? She makes me angry.
They make me angry. Their pretty lives go on, go on like a beautiful day to sail, and bury me deep within the sands of time, a place nothing but nostalgia reaches. Didn’t I stand by you? Didn’t I say it wouldn’t get better than us? But it did, for you it just did. And they all move forth, it mattered not who remained behind. It mattered not what I was supposed to fulfill in this world, nothing matters but moving forth. Indeed, that remains life to most humans, maybe even me. The thought makes me feel a traitor, a turncoat, a blasphemer. The thought makes me angry. They make me angry.
Bacon knew his anger, he knew how it manifests and the ill it does, I know it too, and yet I keep falling deeper and deeper into the clasp of its cruel claws.
The truth is, I make myself angry,