My anger today is silent
It is beyond rage and ranting.
It is my fist through a door on the other side,
fractured but healing itself
It is the blasted walls of my room scattered around my feet,
And I’m standing in the Sun, still alive.
It is a closed door opened to find dead friends behind
their peaceful faces purple and putrid,
It is the darkness of a room in which I sleep and dream,
of lucid night flights to place’s never seen
It is absent weeks and months not knowing who I was,
Slowly opening my eyes, the bandages coming off.
It is answering questions offered by machines about my health,
Folding the blade shut, putting the glass down.
My anger today is in every single cell
So terrifying is its silence it becomes a living Hell.