Anger

Anger



It starts as a flush,

Just a warmth in the cheeks

Letting you know it is there –

annoying, provoking.



You can control it at this point,

At least you try,

But as the unnerving source keeps at you,

The warmth spreads

a little,

then a little more,

Like it is being carried in the blood –

piqueing, agitating, badgering.



Other parts of the body start to feel it too.

This tenses you –

provoking, irritating, irking.



The source of frustration doesn’t quit.

Your fingers start to tighten,

Making lightly closed fists –

plagueing, harassing.



As the irritation continues to probe,

Your teeth start to grind about,

You clench them until your neck sinews are at full stretch,

You could play them like a cello playing Rage Against the Machine –

exasperating, inflaming.



Why does this incessant, perturbing vexation continue to needle?

Why must it stick it

and twist it

and turn it

and

make

it

hurt

and

burn?

You are suffocating.

You need air to breathe deeply,

To stop the shockwave of intense, livid, vomitous emotion that is about to spill forth –

raging, infuriating, maddening.



It takes it’s last stab,

A merciless, gut piercing stab.

It haughtily laughs

As you unravel your intense rage,

Then shatter,

Like hot glass

Taken to a heat beyond what it can bear,

A gazillion pieces spraying and piercing everything in its path –

released, vented, discharged.



Then it’s finished.

You are done.

The carnage spreads out before you,

You notice the slight breeze,

An increasing cold chill,

The coldness of the enveloping guilt

That wraps itself over you like winter’s unwelcome wind.

It cripples you.

You are helpless,

Pathetically alone –

broken.