Anger is the burning inside of us,






The all-consuming fire.








The scraping of sand paper against metal.

Anger is barely missing the goal.





The fragrance of garbage,








A foul and nostril-scorching scent.

Anger is the wave that washes over you.





The flavor of bitter sea water,







Vile and undrinkable.

Anger is not finishing,







The sight of my new car crashed against a tree.




It is dark and overpowering.

Anger is the soreness of swallowing nails.




It cuts like knives in your side,







The ache of shin splints.

But in the end, anger starts to die.





The pain diminishes slowly,






And that anger boils down to a simmer.