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.
