Depleted

I am angry at every tragedy.
I am incensed
at senseless death and violence.
I am fraught with fury
over false hopes
and political posturing
over dead men's heads.
I add up all the losses,
trace back every shed tear and
set of shoulders slumped
under the weight of
too much, too often,
and I find that I have overspent.
My grief has been depleted by
too many bad days and
too many bad men
and I have nothing left to give you now
besides this slow-burning fire.
You disappeared in a puff of smoke
like magic in reverse
and I cannot cry for you
so I smolder instead.