ONGOING ATTEMPTS

my anger is not red.
it's silver.
it's sharp.
it's cold.
and electrifying.
my anger looks like lightning.
my anger feels like lightning.
it's shocking.
it's sudden.
and in times,
deadly.
my anger is personal.
no one sees me angry, except me.
I do not blow up.
I do not shout or yell.
I do not kick asses or the like.
I let my anger slip nicely into a ball of discharge right in the middle of my belly.
and eventually, it cools down and goes away.
or so I like to believe.
my anger lies in my head.
my anger always struggles with my reason.
in my head.
in a -more often than not- bloody massacre.
my anger -more often than not- loses.
However, when my anger hits back,
it's stronger.
massive destruction.
my anger is a lonely soldier.
that I beat up because I have no one else to blame.
my anger is a captive.
I never let it out in the open, I never let it see the light.
Therefore, my anger is a dark headless knight on the loose.
in me.
and I don't know for how long I'll be able to live with my anger.



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