ANGER

Anger

When the moment comes where you're just so fed up of the world that you wanted to scream, but it seems that screaming isn't enough. When you are full of anger and hatred inside you that you just want to punch and break things, but even destruction isn't satisfying. They say that you should express your feelings--your anger--into something worthwhile like writing or painting it. But what if even words can't express that depression, anger, hate, sick-feeling, madness, and inexpressible emotion inside you? It seems bottling it all up is the best option. So what if you go insane? Wouldn't it be their fault that you're starting to grit your teeth and rock back and forth in anger? Isn't it their doing why you can't scream out loud all those feelings inside you? Aren't they the reason why you're so fed up of the world and you can't find that happiness you've always looking for? They are the reason why you just wish to draw blood out of your wrist, use that blood as an ink to write curses and cusses, look at that piece of paper, and wish that it would just be enough for you to calm down, slow down, and find the reason why you're so angry towards everything...towards the world. 

You see people as the reason why you're like this: The person who is angry at the world, the person who trusts nobody, the person who sees pain as a friend, the person who has no voice to speak up. It's the world's wrong doing why you're feeling nothing but anger, pain, hate, and why you see yourself as so low and so dark. They are the reason why you, too, judge yourself, because they have judged you first. You wish to smile a real smile, you wish to have sparkling eyes, you wish to have ears that listens to someone and by listening you can trust them, and you wish to have that light heart and feeling inside you. But how could you have those things when all those wishes can't come true because they have killed Santa for you? You smile because you don't want to explain why you're frowning or crying, you're eyes...instead of the beautiful shade of blue or brown, there is this black coating over it, seeking revenge and answers, your ears are closed for advices, for that music the world creates, and your heart...the most broken one...it's shattered to pieces and no one seems to notice it. They just kept stepping on those fragile shards, not caring if you're hurting. Why would they care? You're already broken anyway.