Bottled Emotions

is the poison that will sabotage you from the inside.

The fire never extinguished;
it burns louder through a guilty conscience,
a hollow promise settling in my stomach,
hallucinating redemption
like an innocent college kid
hesitantly trying phencyclidine.

The sunshine of the inexperienced
turns to a storm,
and evilness rises from buried dirt
like a worm.

The blood is cold,
flowing through the veins of a man
who was told lies,
where heartbreak left traces
and revenge became the destination,
even if hell was included.

The anger lingers like COVID,
the heart is lonely like orphans,
the mind a prisoner executed,
happiness an embryo aborted.

My clarity is unsorted;
the road to heaven fortified
until I fell victim
to the street of corruption
that stayed unreported.
Swept under the rug
and flushed down the toilet
was evidence
of a hardened criminal,
descendant of Pharaoh,
manipulating the anxiety of Moses.

Rage is the passion I pursue;
I retrain my mind
to reverse the internal abuse.
I dive my body into the devil’s pool,
blood mixed with chlorine,
a scent that clings to me.

The shadows of the past are too deep;
I can’t even find their foundation.
At my reflection,
I don’t notice a difference
between top and bottom.
Black is in front, and
unlike the groundhog’s shadow,
the nighttime of winter in my spirit
does not equate to a season.

My frenzy is permanent;
seeking retribution feels like purpose.
Steroids of anger —
my favorite tactic.
I’m a prisoner in my mind,
serving a life sentence,
trying to offset corruption,
turning the confident reluctant,
so they feel the consequence
I never had time
to process.