To Sleep With Rage

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Sometimes we make choices, often the wrong choices, for the sake of our own protection. This poem speaks to a choice some of us make. lmr


 
I once slept with
The fingertips of
Rage.  I fell in love with
The prick of its
Flaming passion...
Its driving heat made me feel
Unafraid and then even
Alive  again.
But it never stood still
Or stagnate.
It was always bubbling,
Then churning and
Moving within.
 
I once slept with
The fingertips of Rage
And allowed it to dig
Its sharp and vicious
Claws inside me.
But the pain made me feel
Almost in control again...
So I let Rage have
Its treacherous way with me.
 
I once slept with
The face of Rage.
It kissed my lips
Pierced my skin and then...
Took my breath
Away. I fell
In love with the noise of its
Wild voice. I loved
How it kept
The chicken shit away.
 
I once slept with the sizzling
Body of Rage.
I thought, for some reason,
Its hotness would save me. But
All it did was turned me out
And then, made me
It's slave.
 
I once slept with
The entirety of Rage.
I even let it impregnate me.
But all it left me was deeply
Unfulfilled...
And it took away the ugly-
Beauty of
Myself...
 
But eventually
Rage would leave me
Trembling
In its wake...
 
With its mess of
 
Anger babies.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
copyright © 2017 by L.M. Ross
 
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