Red As Blood
Unworthy, disappointed, disgusted.
That it what you are to me.
I would rather slit my own wrists,
Than to hear your half-heartedly felt lies.
You ask me what is wrong,
But can’t you see already?
The angry truth is tearing up inside me,
And it’s clawing to get out.
It builds up deep inside, and finally, I can’t keep it under control.
I let out a cry of sheer torture under anger,
The walls seem to vibrate and the floors shake under my voice.
The world rains down the walls, leaving a black, angry smudge.
Why can’t I be understood, why can’t I even understand myself?
But it’s all hopeless. It doesn’t matter.
Everyone’s moved on, but me.
Still, until next time when the anger builds to a momentum,
I will rage another time.
With a lot more anger to bring.