She feels her anger in the narrow crevices
Between the whites of her teeth
And in the slimy depths of her throat
Where it rasps when she screams where
The sun don’t shine

You can smell her anger on her breath
In the morning, as prevalent as coffee there
The scent of it is like the peppermint gum
Her mom used to chew
And the dark dank unswept stairs
Leading to the attic

Her anger is alive
And its ripping off her skin
As a girl rips out her hair
Or a man his clothes
When they are in despair
Her anger becomes her
However unbecoming it is

It lives, coiled tight in her stomach
Brushing its scaly body
Against the tissue of the inner lining
It is a cold-blooded creature
And when it shivers
It shivers
It shivers
So does she

Yet her anger burns
In the darkest corners of her mind
Charring, turning it black and hard
From the inside out
It burns behind her eyes
Scrambling her retinas
When once again she opens them

Her anger lives in the corner
Of his upturned lips
As he smirks
At her anger

Sweetie, I’m sorry
But when it dissipates, evaporates
Seemingly disappears
It hasn’t gone anywhere

And as the spindly hand
Of the old clock creeps by
The anger in the air
Becomes dense
And takes on a form of its own
A specter, a menacing phantom
That she cannot reason with
And it rumbles like a hungry stomach-
You can’t ignore its plaintive cries

Her anger builds itself
Up within her skull
Coating her brain with a layer
Of heavy liquid lead
It presses her down in there
And soon she’ll be running
Out of room
For all the chairs and beds and silverware
And she will only shake
Struggling

She is her anger’s warden
She keeps it locked away behind bars
So it doesn’t hurt
Anyone in the-
In the real
In the real w
In the real wor
In the real worl-
She can’t even say it
Never will she and her anger
Touch that unspeakable place
For fear of
The
Rumbling