“Anger, the cure to life, by the death of it. For we aim to put out the flame with a greater one, and never so bravely open our vulnerable selves to the washing rain of teardrops.”
– Modern Romanticism
Anger. Is such an emotion able to be controlled? It cannot, any more than fire can be controlled for where it spreads. Fire, the weapon. Though, a weapon that controls the wielder of it. We are not responsible with anger. We cannot be. Anger is never responsible for us, for that is the same as believing a tyrant deeply cares for consequences. To anger, anything goes, most literally so, especially from its poisoning to the life that carries it.
Toxicity. That is anger. Or, it is the result of anger. For flame’s sake, we relate a fire to the swell of rage. Therefore, we compare toxicity to the smoke that results from a blaze. We cannot love, with anger, for we always hurt, with it. We make others vulnerable, because we never do such unto ourselves. We break others, or other things, and never ourselves. Were such a destruction to be upon ourselves, we would weep. And, through such a session of weeping, we’d inevitably become able to connect with another. For so long as they are not the oil meant to burn or be heated, and cannot combine with ourselves, the water, they will always fuse.
It is anger that conceals the hurt. It is such an emotion that hides the pain. We do not even yearn to show it, when anger is something that deludes us into a false sense of strength. Of strength, we do not feel it, when we simply burn, inside. We are simply destroying all others who, if unified with ourselves, would create the connection we so yearn. And, if we cried, we would find ourselves not so alone, not so angered at the world, though in comprehension that it was ourselves who held the wrong.
And, to look upon it in a more objective manner, when it comes to Nature, water is the element superior to fire. Therefore, to weep is the objectively correct choice that should not even be a choice. It should be what we were meaning to do, though did not know how.
Modern Romanticism 