Rage
Rage is my nourishment.
Pummelling blood through my veins.
Giving me surges of power to get through the day.
“Talk to me, I’m here for you, let me know if you need me” they say.
But I haven’t got the words.
I only have the rage.
They don’t want that do they?
They want pitiful, soul crushing sadness, rivers of tears, great heaving sobs and shuddering shoulders.
Tangible things which they can wrap their arms around and provide some relief,
some haven,
some warmth to help mend my broken heart.
But they can’t fix the rage,
I don’t want them too.
It’s the only thing I have that will keep me alive.