UNPLEASANTLY UNHAPPY

I am very, very angry.

I started writing this new poem in here, making the stupid mistake of writing it in the box as I'm going. What do you know? Internet Explorer informs me it's about to crash. Nice one, genius. So I manage to copy the poem, and I even test it in another window to make sure it'll work. It works fine, so I let internet explorer crash, and I bring it up again, firing it onto Blogger. Wouldn't you know it? MY CLIPBOARD IS SUDDENLY BLANK. So, I just lost the whole poem and everything in it.

I'm very, very frustrated. It was the first poem I've written in parts, and I was actually quite proud of it.

NOW I NEED TO START ALL OVER AGAIN. AHHHHH!

So, here's a poem about how pissed off I am instead. Enjoy.

Beast of Ire

This beast will engulf everything in its path if I let it.
It can burn down countrysides, pillage settlements and snuff out the life of children with a single breath.
Its tongue can break hearts; its fist can break friendships.
Its tears boil and scald,
And they poison the drinker.
A vein bursts under its pressure, spilling its life, and it presses on,
Determined to destroy everything in its path,
And me,
In the process.

This endless beast is my rage as I sit into the late hours of the night,
Contemplating my own sleep in a dreamlike stupor.
I'm far from calm; this beast is my unmaking.
And it just - prods - on -
Its tail the barb that drives into my ribs,
Its claws dig at my skull and its tongue lashes at my heart.
I'll drink its tears as my tea,
I'll accept its claw as an embrace and its tail as a kiss for now.
For now, all I can do is write, until I can write again.
Until I can be rid of this beast for a time long enough to compose my thoughts,
Use the pen-sword, and fight it with words.