Want me to write about my anger,
Write about my wrath?
Journal my rage,
put undescribale actions down on a page?
A river of lava pumping through my veins,
a burnt chunk of molten for a heart
not even the blackness of my irises can reflect that,
That which is hurt and hate all in one
You speak of things you might do in rage
I speak of things I've done
and I feel ashamed, yet don't regret
I speak of acts that scare me
cause I wouldn't want to do them
but I'd lie to say in wrath I couldn't
and then I'd ask would I even know what I had come to do,
that i had done?
You speak of blind rage like you know of it,
I don't speak it
cause I do know of it
and still it has me afraid,