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Anger

Today, I am angry. Very angry.

It is red, blood red. It is raw. It is gaping with incoherance.

It festers inside. It oozes out. Sneakily. Wherever it can. Through the unsuspecting.

It’s colour now no longer the truth of blood red, but the slyness of greenish-yellow.

It shrivels up the life.

How long till only charred black remains?

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