Angry little man

I am an angry little man.
Anger is an heirloom, inherited from my father,
and his father before,
and so on, perhaps.
But my anger is different.
The heirloom has been deformed over time.
The edges have smoothed,
ashes have collected in heavy breathes
over its last few leaves.
It flows like a little stream, approaching the valley;
almost not there.
But I am still
an angry little man.
-B
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