Rage

It swirls around you and chases after you. You push it away, but it persists. You breath in the scent of it and feel the cold chill as you turn it away. As it is fed, it becomes stronger, and you are unable to keep it away any longer. It catches you and fills you up completely. It breaks apart and stings you like salt on a wound. Just as it demanded to get in, it starts struggling to get out. That which it fed upon to gain strength becomes the catalyst for which it demands to get out...the object of its desire. Your body is no longer yours as long as the object tempts what is in it. It will use you to get to that which taunts it, which taunts you. You have become one; you have become it. Time stops. When it starts back you are left with nothing but the mess that it has left behind. It has been satisfied and has fled. Are you responsible for not running fast enough...for getting caught by it..for allowing it to show you things as it sees them? Was the object of its desire responsible for feeding it...for making it strong and giving it a target to release itself upon? It is irrelevant now in light of the mess that it has left behind. It never takes into consideration the loss and the mess. In the blink of an eye, it changes everything....in the blink of an eye.