Some lucky people are bound by logic, and are only able to experience pain when it is completely sensible to… others are bound by fury wherein a beast the color of mauve and crimson, with fur the consistency of barbed wire and a purr so aggressive it could slaughter the ear drums, sits in a gilded throne within all planes of the being, from bone to bone, spitting its grotesque and poisonous saliva into the marrow, darkening, spontaneously and unprompted, ones hope for the morrow. In certain instances like these, wherein happiness is obscured by the venomous skewers of the beasts thorny back, it is as if there were no room left for breath beyond the night, as if a biting row of teeth had been manifested in the tissues of the heart, and had slowly proceeded to chomp apart the functions of its faith. A sensitive anger emerges within one’s nucleus, postponing one’s capacity to perceive, neurologically, the presence of sunlight and all other forms of illumination. It is a sudden and gripping incarceration.