Rage

Rage
Based on the painting titled Rage by Brenda Jones

You took my hands with you.
I can’t change anything.
You took my feet too.
I can’t run from it.
I still remember the snarl of your lip,
the look of disgust after.
Like maybe you regretted it. Or not.
Maybe you were disgusted by me.
The bloody mangled remains of my youthful body,
laying prostrate on the graying white sheet.
There might have been regret in your eyes.
Sorrow. For the pain you inflicted
Sorrow. In the deep creases of your eyes.
But that came later. Probably.

Monster. Did you feel bad?
I still see you in the crowds,
in the faces of angry strangers shoving past.
I’m older now, and you’re gone,
but you’re still in my head.
Are you sorry?
As you burn in hell, are you sorry?