Anger.

The dull light flickered,
and then conquered my desk.
I was not alone,
for I was not the one writing:
my rage gripped the pen so tight
as if to never let go.

Words crumbled into a scribble
as the pages started sliding;
a single sheet fell to the ground,
a single sheet fell gliding.

Your name clung to the page in bold
and caught my eye as it landed on a sculpture -
a parody of a lion, its mouth imitating biting...
But I had no time for that,
for I was not alone
and I was not the one writing.