*

who knew so much anger could reside within a small body of mere flesh, fluids, and bones. anger which fills up every corner and crack of the body, filling to the brim... when the body is shaken, or the ground on which it stands trembles, the anger spills, dripping to the side slowly, like blood, trickling down with painful stickiness that you would not expect of anger...

such is the anger which i carry around, always filled up dangerously to the brim, always ready to spill. perhaps if i may fall, i can empty myself of it,... and then what? what will fill me up? nothing else can be poured into my soul, nothing else is available on tap except for anger. i'm afraid to fall, afraid of emptying myself, even of anger.

don't fall.
i'm trying my best.





i fall.
i can't help it.