The Death of Fire

When I was younger
My anger kept me warm
Wrapped in thoughts of revenge
For when I was older
For when I was stronger
For when I didn't have to stay
My anger fed me, protected me
Nothing could have stolen it from me
My anger couldn't be put in garbage bags
My anger couldn't be broken by others
My anger was both a shield and a sword
My mask and my true self
But my anger couldn't make me happy
With it's claws and spikes
It couldn't comfort me beyond it's capabilities
My anger was both my fuel and my pain
And when I started to heal
My anger did wane slowly
As I've become older I have seen it almost disappear
My anger no more than the hissing of a disgruntled cat
Take a few steps back and I'm not much of a threat
I go numb more than before
I would say that being angry was better
Than feelings nothing at all
And now I feel nothing
No pleasure, no pain, no fear
Not in any strong ways anyway
I am just lost in a sea of nothing
My anger is low on fuel
My pain is not so raw as that of a child's
I am... Just 23 and yet I feel... So very old
I wonder how my anger at 24 will appear
Tattered and in rags I see it
The start of the end of my 23rd year
Will my anger explode into a raging fire
On my 24th birthday?
Or will it simply... Go out
Apathy and numbness replacing it...
I'm lost in worry
I'm someone who has always been angry
Now I feel like I've lost it
That spark that pushed me forward
Who are you when your passion dies?