slam

This is not a fucking storehouse you fucking piss of shit!

I cried out in my sleep as the door slammed shut 20 minutes later. I could not help but pound the walls hard with my fist and head till something inside started to break and bleed. I don't know why I am so primal again. I don't want the sun to go down on my anger. But I am seething.

Why did I call on you as my flesh and blood and grafted myself now too deep I am buried under sheets of your snow glacier and ungrace? Rejection is a tough bitch. That words mean so much more to me is the poison that now I seem to find wordlessness. Empty, shut out because it seems you will fumble with your brashness. Silent and restrained because you might just hit my spots with your tough stains. That it is turning up the heat because no elements are added, replenished. That this heat is quite latent, symptoms of winter and a stubborn snow storm that refuses to go away. That when the sun comes out, some kind of implosion is waiting to happen.

And I'm sitting like a time bomb waiting to happen. I would rather die than to wait. I would rather disappear from the face of the earth, so your life becomes a little more convenient. So you can do as you please. So you can take your wares anywhere you want. So that your secrets go unnoticed and buried with me in the grave. Is this how love lays it all down for a life to go so a life can learn to be wise and grow in stature?

Let me go down for I cannot seem to let go. Come home, my brother, everyone here misses you.