We are creatures of rage, the red stain that blinds us and clouds our perception when we’re instigated. The safety pin that guards our entities from imploding by exploding into the outside. The gas with which we try to quench our fire of will when the all other fires are cloaked. Remorseless, vengeful, sour and to the point; thus is he who’s enraged, seeking to consume the rage before the rage consumes him. Old rage that’s turned just ashen-cold is a construct upon which we build our bitterness. The remainder is but a focus of deep sorrow upon which we reflect in our times of grief… Helpless and Drained.