Grrr

Like a slap in the face the mood changes.

Sudden, deep plumes of shame blossom all over
Roots burrowing deep into flesh and muscle and bone
Covering all skin with murky green feeling
Disgusting, this is. Disgusting, I am.

Is it shameful I wish my tenor gave itself to more than mere self-deprecating revulsion?
Is it shameful I wish it gave itself to deeper destruction?

Even my anger is naive.
Not even my anger is substantial.
Always, all-ways shallow and partial.
Shallow and partial.
Amounting to nothing more dust.