Title: Optional

Text: Beneath me I feel anger lurking, this recognizable pang that sets fire to me, so I write a poem. My words ball up inside of me, a fist that is constantly opening and closing, and I'm concerned that if I release them with the intensity they strike me with, will the language burn the reader, too? I can't go on with these words and thoughts scorching my mind, a tiny tealight candle melting through the very thoughts that lit it. Other than the inferno, my mind is plain, infested with usual thoughts. Each paragraph will be a test.

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