Let's see if I can do this when I'm angry.

It's not called venting. That I did.

I lashed out at those around me furiously.

Strangers, stay out of my path;

you may talk as though you know me,

but you don't know the half.

I'm not pounding anymore, the

adrenaline rush has faded.

Now that it has, I find this not so easy.

If this is what it takes to climb on the express,                

then it ought to come more often and more simply.

I get these moods often enough, too often;

ask that spiteful person and they'll agree quickly.

When they do, perhaps it will come on again,

and I'll see if I can do this when I'm angry.