fury manifests itself in two forms:
first, there's boiling anger, bubbling to the surface;
doors slammed with a face flushed red, yelling at the top of your lungs, with wildfire in your racing heart & a volcano erupting in your chest,
the bright and wild anger that ends with things being thrown and smashed,
vicious comments being ****** at the offender like a molten spear,
it ends with hands in the air in an unspoken gesture of exasperation as stomping legs walk away.

it’s second form is quiet but infinitely deeper,
a fury that resembles stiff, freezing wind; calm and calculating, it’s jaw clenching and quiet resolution; eyes icing over with a frosty glare,
wicked brilliance plotting retribution in a mind covered with a cool, clean blanket of biting snow. silent. with nothing to distract, only a blinding, reflective openness to think. and
every decision to make its way through each muscle and down the spine, every inch being covered with a cool layer of adamant.

firy fury burns out eventually, all that’s left is a hollow pile of ashes where that powerful fury once burned brightly.
but icy fury, that’s the kind of anger that runs deep into the soul, it takes more than one sunny day to melt it away.