I miss not feeling anger.
Anger at myself or others
Anger at lives gone and faded
gone from minds still
I miss not feeling rage
Rage of past thoughts
Rage of today and yesterday
rage of lacking thrill
I miss not feeling empty
Empty of hating futures
Mind. Does it matter?
My rage of being ill.
National poetry writing month
A month of madness
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Thanks for commenting. You lovable weirdo