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and blood spills.
February 21, 2017
rage
quiet, rumbling
at first
the stricken skin,
the puddle water,
the electric current.
meeting each other for drinks,
underneath veiny skins,
my temples are pulsing.
quick,
find contentment.
contention?
contentment.
it’s in the blood,
the scarlet, crimson truth,
the rushing water,
pulsating,
steady...steady,
split.
i remember the rage.
the quiet at first,
the trace of tender,
the red.
how quickly i forget,
when it starts up again.
© Carolina C., Houston, TX
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In the aftermath of one of my darker fits of depressed mania, I wrote this. I was trying to find a name for the darkness, for the anger that piled up within me, either aimed at myself or my anxiety. This is short, but does an okay job, I think. I hope it's enjoyed, even if not understood completely.