Ire
In the snow storm of life we are snowflakes, no two are exactly the same.
Sometimes the ire we feel is brought forth, not by another's hand, though we do blame them for the piercing pain felt with in our heart. Warm blood leaks from within, creating a coldness, a disgust for ourselves and sometimes for living. Having been told, we are the curators of our own happiness or sadness. Not one other soul, has the ability to create our thoughts. Not one other being, can contribute unless we allow them...
