1 existence

I've learnt to cherish their wrath

like a gift

Because love is not something

you give, it's something you steal

and wound

and leave to die.

Anger is is more beautiful than love.

Love is a promised paradise,

a mere fairytale,

something you plant in minds.

A seed.

Seeds bloom and grow

but eventually

die.

Anger is reality

A darkness,

always there

Even on the brightest days,

a shadow.

And shadows don't die.