I flirted with rage

and bore a grudge,

feral like an afternoon storm.

I kissed agony

and played the traumatic records in my memory.

I made love with fire by the rivers of tears,

brimming to burst,

and drown.

I danced with vengeance under the moon,

together we cackled and honed our talons.

I was in love with rage

and cheated on life and happiness.

I forgot to draw the line.

And the sly time eloped with a slice of my life,

eloped with my happiness,

and all the little things that mattered.

I was too busy baring my fangs,

all for some people who were minuscule side characters

in one scene of my life.

Eloped lovers never return.

And I would never see that life.

I wish, I greeted rage like a passing acquaintance,

not like a passionate lover.

I parted ways with rage,

and I was left only with the sullen regret to nurture, forever.