Anthology of Eleos

The most troubling part about frustration is the uncontrolled nature of it and the the way it holds everything captive. As it is drained the anger fizzles away and the bubbles fight to bring it back. How can anger run so rampant, yet it’s confined behind glass undisturbed and undisturbing. Its cold inside, but the use use use allows warmth to creep in to match the heat of that which uses it. Where is the comfort of losing control. Where is control? A sigh of relief from pressure building, building, building, it’s free until it slowly dies as it’s used over and over. The frustration makes it precious, the calm is a waste. time. money.  intent.  Waste. 	It was never meant to heal. Punished for its calm, but rewarded, drained, for the anger. 
Is there any way to win, 	or is this the      
neverending. Destruction,     or lack of 
                                      construction,
 
is the freedom it craves 		so it may    live peacefully 
                 without being asked to bite. 

     Bite again 	   and again 
until its teeth 
                      have fallen out. 		       Excruciating it is 
                            to bite without teeth, 

so it shall be put down 						

and transformed 

to be of use again again again.