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The Anger

I've been burnt,

With the flames of the anger,

Years ago,

So bad that,

It started to feel like a part of me,

The fire from the anger felt like a part of me,

But something in me,

Told me it's not,

And that's when it started to cool off,

The flames didn't leave,

Nor did the fire,

But it cooled off so much,

That it made me cold,

Then again,

I reminded myself that it wasn't,

A part of me,

But instead something,

That made me their host,

And stayed with me,

Nights and days,

As I slowly tried to bury it deep down,

But it always flared up,

Coldy rather like a volcano,

Often triggered by words and actions,

Unchanged over years,

Reminding me of this person I have become,

Even though I didn't want to,

But, I will remember that,

It's not me,

Even though it stays with me,

The anger caused by others,

It's not mine,

And I refuse to recognise it,

When it fires up situations,

I usually like to avoid.


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