The word is an agitated shade of red, that hides and lurks beneath subdued greys and darker blues. Anger sneaks up behind you, churning and festering with every word spoken until
Snap!
And everything you were concealing is done and gone and out.
It’s out in the open and yet you wish you could take it all back inside

Because the dangerous thing about anger isn’t the slamming doors or the screaming fits,
It’s the broken hinges and hoarse voices,
The words you will never be able to take back,
And the regret that fills every part of your being.