Irony

All he wanted was just someone to depend on. Anyone. Not me.

Not me.

Anger

is what ruled me - it's not that I have not known, but every time I re-read what I have written some time ago, I am struck by the rawness and ferocity of the one emotion that thrusts itself out from the thicket of words.

Like a wronged whore with breasts heaving. Ravaged and torn and mutilated.

And then there is the crowd. But of course. Hyenas. The world needs scavengers too.

What heals anger? Save amnesia?