Anger

Anger

Sometimes
I get angry—
but I don’t think I know
what anger is, really,
so it seems to
work its will
in other ways.

Like hurt,
confusion,
frustration—
or the worst:
a creeping thing
like sentient, ice-cold death.

It steals along my spine
until my head feels cold and white…
until my mind is frosty…
until all light grows pale.

I sink.
I blink.
I cannot find my way.

20181214