Living with these demons in me,
these monsters keep on haunting me,
they go by many names, and wear
many faces as they try and test me.
They want to try and get the best
of me, they competing for my soul,
like it were a game of chess,
but this one ghoul, he just
likes to rage and roar and
ravage and rake me across the coals,
and he calls himself the Rage.

In my dreams, I seen him barking,
something like a man, but something
more still. He's tall as hell,
skin red like the raging fire,
eyes burning with rageful desire.
The fiend, he emanates heat from
every pore, just being around him
was like walking in an oven.

In this dream or maybe a vision,
I watched him for a while, before
he spotted me. He stood still like
a stone statue, not making a sound
or moving a muscle, but I could feel.
I could feel and sense that anger boiling,
like a dormant volcano rumbling, or
a teapot steaming about to blow over.

As far as I could tell, nothing had
made him angry, hell, he was just
standing there like a *****.
Just looking at him was making me
angry too. Something in his face,
the way of his gait, or something.
I couldn't begin to explain it,
but trust me, when I say I wanted
to give him something to be mad about.

I guess the anger got the best of me,
cause without even thinking, I just did,
my muscles clenched, and my teeth did grind,
and that was all that he needed to spot me.
Quicker than a neck snap, his head turned
back as he finally saw me staring him down.

For a minute, he just looked at me
and I looked back at him, both of
us with an expression that colored us red.

Then. He screamed.

He screamed an awful, abominable scream
that rang in my ears and made me recoil,
holding my head in my hands, something
so ugly uttered out of his mouth.
I could hardly look or hear or even think
straight anymore, but I barely saw the
Rage coming for me, running wildly.

Something was keeping my feet grounded,
like some kind of mental quicksand,
I couldn't run or fight or defend,
all I could was scream from within.
I screamed, as he was screaming, and
then something hit me right as he was
about to.

I woke up screaming, but soon stopped.
My skin was sweating, but not in cold ones,
just hot and grimy and smelly, like
I had just ran a marathon or something.
It didn't make no sense, I had just
been sleeping in my bed, but then.

I realized it. The Rage lived within
me. He was me, just another me that
made the me up that you all see.
Every flash of anger, every urge to hurt
every time I wanted to choke or punch
or kick or slap or yell or scream
someone or something, that was The Rage.
Even those days when I could hardly feel
a thing, that demon was still deep in me,
dormant yet dooming and downing me still.

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.