Sometimes it's a murmur,
an angry whisper,
under your breath,
when the impatience
mixes with silence and
makes the air too thick
to really talk
****

And sometimes it's out loud,
when the anger has turned to flames,
no longer pressing in on your head
but being rejected from your body
in an attempt to cool it
before you
explode,
scream,
punch,
I don't give a ****.

And it's gone,
and it's better,
and somehow,
it's much better
than simply
breathing and
i m a g i n i n g
your problems away