When fists are clenched, teeth worn down, seethe does rage from jaw to crown. For what it is, becomes unbeknown, as the blood paces through your immortal soul.
We cant control what seems to be, and things get said, between you and me. For as thoughts pulse through the mind we know, nothing seems real, when emotions have control. As the spirt takes over and try’s to calm, the demons so strong go hand in hand, how many there are is a mystery to me, for they know more than anyone can see.
You see that’s what it is, when anger pertains the soul, it is all becoming, against life’s natural flow. It wants to take stage, take centre place, and show itself that it has a place. Its colour is red, deep red like blood, just split from a wound, a fresh deep cut. It wants to get out and wants to run free, but wants also to control both you and me.