Anger

Years of anger are piling up inside of me. People breaking my heart and lying and cheating. Broken promises and hurting me. I sit alone in my room in a white chair facing the corner of the white wall. I sit with my hands under my thighs and my feet moving quickly up and down, banging on the white carpet. It is night. All I can do is think. I think of those who hurt me. I think of me hurting them. I think of piercing a sharp knife through the side of their neck and watching as their red blood streams down their neck. I think of wiping up that blood up with my finger and putting my finger into my mouth, tasting their blood. I think of the look of terror that would form on their face and I smile. I think of pouring boiling water over their legs and watching them scream in pain as their skin turns red and forms blisters. I sit in my white chair and throw my head back to look at the white ceiling. I close my eyes and let out a small laugh. My anger forms a little more at the thought that I cannot do these things. An anger large enough to make a person go mad.