So far
This unmutable, unnamed rage constantly fills and drains from my entire body. I can feel it in the tips of my fingers while clenching into a spiraling fist and relaxing into mindless waves of comfort. Instants pass through my eyes like they do my brain- like squeezing through a french press. Perhaps having humanity is expressing the gauntlet of emotions and creativity I am capable of. Perhaps, now that I read that back, that is closer to nature. Humanity creates, and therefore I must be an artist. Perhaps all this rage is going unchecked and unused. For the first time since I was a little boy, I've got my humanity back. It's very ugly, though. Perhaps that is the price we pay for being beautiful artists- being ugly humans.