This is not anger.

This is rage.
Blood fizzing in your veins like carbonated torrents,
Stomach acids boiling over.
Heartbeat thunderous in your ears,
Your sight a hundred-thousand incandescent lights,
Unseeing and all-seeing at the same time.

This is wrath.
The kind that stills your hesitations,
And scrapes away all your inhibitions,
Making you feel infallible.

This is not anger.

This is anguish.
You have shattered pieces of me,
irreparably.

Because this heartache is never-ending.

I loathe that this woe festers in my bones,
I loathe that i continue breaking myself for you,
Every time i feel this sorrow.



Haven't I given enough of myself?