When we are mad

Author's note: I miss my old, angsty self. This morning was not one of those good mornings. When someone would say "good morning!", I'd usually retort "What's good about the morning?" and at the back of my head I'd continue saying "certainly not you." BITCH.


When we are mad
The morning has turned black
Like the smoke that filled the window
As if a hundred cigarettes were blown in front of me

The demonlike face has destroyed the halo above me
The volcano has erupted as the fire in his face
brought shivers to my skin
I shouted, sending millions of decibels
that hounded, pounded, broke my heart.

He growled without waiting for an answer.
I said sorry with all anger
and he gave me the last look.
I saw myself in him.
He did not see me.