If you find yourself biting the pen cap

shaking from anger and caffeine

astonished by cruel relinquished

screams filing your throat like

compacted melting snow suffocating its release

bleeding from eating away all the flesh

from inside your mouth

bewildered by the last train of decency

leaving the station empty while

hordes of others bombard it with their

rotted ambivalence

frustrated by  all the lack of effort

when effort in itself takes such little effort to execute

furious when you find all good deeds rewarded

with contemptuous mockery

and above all this

you find yourself embracing these emotions,

then you are as correct as any person can be

you understand that you have

the gift

of creation’s passion

(after-all…all creation began with a bang)

 

 

 

 

af

 

 

 

 

(written with pen on paper)