Rage.
Red and bitter.
Feels like a burning fire.
It sits in my stomach and twists and turns.
It spins and tears until it bleeds through my vision of reality.
Rage.
Is sitting at the kitchen table.
Is arguing trying to win a pointless fight.
Is getting up filled with anger.
Is flipping the table and storming out.
Rage.
Is a foul beast.
With claws like a falcon,
And teeth like a wolf,
Bared and ready to snap.
Rage.
Is not what I want
It is not a feeling I desire,
But rather a curse,
A plague.
About the Creator
Jai Storm
An avid writer who utilizes real life experiences and places them delicately onto paper for others to live vicariously through.
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