I scrub my skin red raw,
scalding water drawing blood.
I try to lose myself, let it all flow down the drain,
but am held in place by the sticky remains of carefully laid plans.

I indulge in a momentary fantasy of death and rebirth,
immersed in a stream of holy, transformative water,
that which holds me back and apart melts away,
from what remains is fashioned
…”Enough!”
“It is getting late and down this road lies grave danger.”
Time to turn off the water and face this body,
this miracle of modern medicine,
this compromise.

Not bad considering…
always considering,
distraction or oblivion the only shelter from those merciless eyes,
always watching;
watching now as steam clears from the mirror.

Half hidden between layered cloth and paint,
she obsesses over her face,
knowing the brightest light casts the darkest shadows.
The haunt of ancient fears
writ in chromosome,
rubbed at far too late,
etched in flesh and bone.

This is the type of anger that falls like gravity,
your lungs shaking, gasping,
burning the back of your throat,
dripping off your face, hitting the floor

this is the kind of anger that doesn’t
fucking
let you sleep,
up all night
doing drugs

This is the kind of anger that hates your friends

This is the kind of anger that tears into your flesh,
razor blade smooth,
pressed down hard at the back

This is the kind of anger that wants to make you sick,
the kind of anger that gives you cancer

This is the kind of anger that’s dying to burn it all,

to feel the heat of the flames, hear the screams, taste the ash

This is bad violence,
this is shaking

This is the kind of anger that took so many friends, full of hope
And left a city littered with empty clockwork ghosts
. . .
This is the kind of anger you wouldn’t understand