Pured Unadultared Rage
I let it all out on my way home. The music cranked up to the point where my speakers distorted, the windows rolled down so the flash-fried desert air blasted away at me and cooked my flesh and my voice raised until it cracked and I choked on the dryness of letting everything out in bursts of screams and curses.
I don't know why it all built up like this. Normally, it bubbles out in bits and pieces, but today everything that was pent up escaped in an thermo-nuclear explosion.
I would love to tell you I feel better after my ouburst, but I don't.
I should be able to break it down on a logic scale and pinpoint where my normal venues of dispenssing my anger roke down, but I can't.
I could just bury this all back down for use at a later time, but I won't.
I am angry at the world and right now I hate you all.
Jesus. Was this how I was before I smoked pot everyday? It's been so long I can't even remember. Sedation and submersion brings me peace, but the demons inside that inspire me require, pure, unadultared rage to function properly.
The old proverb, damned if I do and damned if I don't is a suitable description for me.
Fuck it. I'm done thinking for now.
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