You do not make my blood boil;
You make it simmer.
You make it simmer
Until it heats up faster and faster,
Slowly but surely boiling over,
Painfully overflowing with heat
Until it screams,
Falling over the sides of the pot.
You turn down the heat
Enough for the screams to subside,
Enough for everything to calm,
And then the heat comes back.
The same increase and reduction is
Used until you can use and pitch me.
- Cathryn
A/N: I was such an angry child; I still am, and I probably always will be. :)
YOU ARE READING
Pleasure or Pain? (Poetry)
PoetryI call this my book of chaos; my sanctuary. When the turmoil inside of me resurfaces, when I've surpassed my tipping point, putting my jumbled thoughts and conflictions into words gives back the control I initially lost.
