You Speak Of It

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,

today.

freeflowpoet