My anger is mine. Like an onion, it has layers, one of which eminates a past with guilt ridden drunk Catholics. Those Catholics much angrier, yet molesting their young and whipping their kneebacks brought temporary orgasmic release. The other comes from an abrupt kidnap and isolation from my segregate.
She abandoned me. She rejected me.
He abandoned me. He rejected me.
My addiction and affliction are concealed. The night hosts my Demons, my knees bloodied on wooden blocks, stains of sins and I repent.
As those before, you followed.
I looked to be saved, it is no one else’s life, but their own.
I abandon my anger. I reject my anger.
Her mourning coffee 
Well you can’t really abandon the anger.
But, maybe, a useful thing for you, is to clarify the righteousness that underlines your anger, which seems to be EXACTLY what you are doing.
And leaves me totally impressed.
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Thank you.
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