Killing Rage

It is so much easier for me to be angry.
Lit like fire and cutting the heads off with my tongue I lash out at people that scare me with their proximity to my heart.
The anger settles into the small room I've left unlocked and weighs my heart down down and down until I am just low enough to collapse without completely shattering.
I'm terrified of what you will say, how you will react and the disappointment I'm sure you have in me. I don't want you to see that I fail every minute of every day sometimes so I get mad and I
shove you away with my knife riddled hands and gun powder soaked feet.
Because it is so much easier to be angry.

I try not to believe that the boulder of anger, warmed by the heat of my rage, I curl around at night warms me more than His Grace could, I know it's not true.
I hold my breath and push push push through hoping that I can calm down before I'm required to speak to people about even the most mundane things.
Dizzy I stagger through my days lately trying to hold off the anger that I feel. I'm mad at myself and at so many people and things that have nothing to do with anything that actually is hurting me.

Still I hold on, unsure how to let go. I reel back in my fishing pole prayers uncertain how exactly to lay it all down without picking it back up, nervous that someone will see what a mess I am.

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