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sometimes, rage appears quietly creeping in like a silent assassin through the cracks in your mind in the still of a full moonlit night
there it stands in the shadows, like a thief with a finger to its lips hushing all sound — firing shots with a silencer, armed with a box of matches and gasoline — ready to set fire to everything
cloaked in darkness with twisted intentions — it will not yield, it will not run, it stands firm watching the world go up in flames, thriving off the scent of its smoke filling your lungs and burning through every vein
entering the psyche like a guilty pleasure — indulged in like the worst kept secret adrenaline fuelled, with a gleeful smirk as it possesses you time after time — it suffocates the air in the room like carbon monoxide, seeping under our skin — we blindly breathe it all in until nothing good is left alive — just the ghosts of suspicious minds never satisfied
left with such a restless urge to purge and vent, unadulterated and untamed — like the fury of a wounded lover, quietly welling with bitter tears — hidden in plain sight by plastic smiles whilst plotting revenge
a cold and deadly natural mystic, like the ice-age, releasing millions and millions of snowflakes that tiptoe in from heavy clouds — falling swiftly and gently — killing everybody softly
what a wicked game it plays, letting primal instincts morph into rage — planting seeds of chaos in hearts and brains, disappearing as quickly as it came — until its called on the next time the wild roars like a scream into a hurricane, it will gladly answer saying ‘hush now, don’t explain’
