//
abysses of anger cease within my scathing castles of arteries the kind that lingers faithfully like a dancing demon. it morphs itself into a new set of bones in my chafed ribcage, drenches itself into an oath of synthetic healings and sits there to tortuously marinate.
//
it resides in my crestfallen chest like a dismal ache and I let it because sometimes, only sometimes it tastes like nectarine passion against my crimson fists.
//
I've kneeled in front of it as I would with a bronze statue of a saint.
//
I would like to say this racing blood and this must for sinister malevolence and this corrupt want to hurt myself or someone else feels bad but when my scrawny body becomes familiar with fury, I find myself savoring the taste of acidic anger on my petals.
//
how simple it is to get angry and how complex it is to feel anger.
