you're like bolt lightning in an old bottle
irrational and far too difficult to control
but then again no different to a shouting father
screaming wildly at his helpless child
that has taken to lying through his teeth
about the demons hiding beneath the surface
of his pallid skin.

as if shouting would ever make the world
stop spinning quite as fast, or make the
sun stop glaring at the faces of the forgotten
ones who reside mainly in their houses trying
oh so hard not to break themselves in half
while attempting not to let life take them
when it's so early in the year.