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in my rage
i committed a tragic crime.
all 30 paintings and 20 years of poetry
it was the hottest fire
i've ever tasted,
the heat dried my nasal
with each breath,
feeding my anger,rage
i left nothing that
would remind me.
everything i love,
god and you
decided i would not have.
my gifts are mine...
my pain mine...
my thoughts mine...
i can still laugh,
smile if i want.
i'm learning
there's more inside of me
and the world
made of clay.

ray yorba

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The following comments are for "The Fit"
by mrray

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