So I did a wee scribble of a freewrite earlier with my ipod turned up playing songs on shuffle this is what came out of my head.
I don’t often feel in colours but when I do it’s Red. The purest, brightest shade of red that scorches me from my crown to my toes. Every pore is blazing and I am a beacon of emotion. The space between my fingers shimmers with the heat I am radiating. I will burn everything to the ground with my fury and you cannot stand in my way. I am Rage.
But when that fire dies I am nothing, a black hole of being. If I am not angry then am I anything at all? I shine so bright when I am red but if that colour fades then I am only hues of darkness indiscernible from the night. I feel empty.
One day I hope that my rage will do good to someone, but anger, like fire is only destruction so I fear my hope is futile. Fire can forge so perhaps I can hone others into betterment with my colour, make theirs shine brighter.
I don’t understand how I was made this way, all fury or a void. I wish I was neither.
It’s only short but I wanted to share it anyway.
Until next time chaps