It’s overwhelming.
The urge to scream,
and scream until my lips turn blue.
And my throat grows red,
and my hair stands straight up as though I were hit by lightning.
The will power
used to contain my never ending exasperation,
along with frustration,
is enough to shut down
all of the nuclear power plants in France;
although a meltdown might be more lethal.
But maybe being lethal is what I crave;
years of smiling and
moving aside built up
into an explosive pile of nicety and rage.
Light the wick,
and I promise I won’t fail to explode;
though it always seems
I’m more adept at imploding.