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.