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?