Running through my limbs is a bone-deep quiver

A rage unspent lies in anxious wait

Just give me a chance to voice this shiver

With my fists, of course.

What wrong has been done to me?

What crime has broken my maturing armour?

What happened? I don’t see

And yet I’m so aggravated.

I need a chance to calm myself

To think through a course, a plan

Or let my anger disperse itself

Though I think that’s called cowardice.

So far, so good, I’m still quite mad

I’m crazy, I’m sure, I think you’d agree

So I put this down on a writing pad

To give my mind a break.

But it’ll all be decided soon

I’ll chose to vent or bottle up

Tomorrow’s fateful afternoon

Am I still really angry?