Posted in Short Stories, Uncategorized

Burnt Out

You are angry that I am not.
You take it for agreement, compliance, complacence.
My darling, I write this so that you will not understand.
Because, you see,
I was just as angry as you, once.

You are angry, that I am not.
But for you, this is new.
This anger has been freshly discovered,
The pain is hot, and searing in your hands.
My nerve endings were burnt away a long time ago.

You are angry, that I am not.
What a life you must have lived,
That you did not know this already.
Would that I had lived your life,
That this could strike me as it does you

You are angry, that I am not.
Do not misunderstand me.
I hope that your anger burns bright enough
That things at last may change.
That others need not share in your anger.

You are angry, that I am not
But once, when I was angry, you were not.
And alone, in the cold, without fuel,
My anger burnt itself out
And burnt me out, with it.

You are angry, that I am not.
But, darling, don’t you see?
I have lost myself, somewhere beyond the anger.
I am tired.
Once, I was angry, too.

Author:

Writer. Crafter. Nerd.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s