Losing Control

When anger comes to you as a viper,

Feel as it wakes from the bottom of your stomach,

Curling in your throat, and feeling its heart beating on your tongue.

Wait for its burning venom to flick from your open mouth.

It prefers pained hands and a wrecked chair to sleep on,

But remember to put it to sleep inside of you.

It prefers the warmth of the blood pumping and shallow breaths,

Feeding and growing off the shadowy thought of retaliation.

What would happen, if you obeyed?

It’s best to nourish it with a ticking watch, and maybe a joke,

And, sometimes it rests around your neck for days,

So, hide it in your room, don’t leave. Don’t leave.

Keep it hidden underneath your coat, with its hideous scales.

Or with the slightest bump, it might bite,

Ripping the flesh and sinking venom into the nearest meat

Hide all the knives, sharp pencils, and blades

And then hide the snake, away, away, away.

Tell your family a bedtime story, before hating them.

The tearing starts simple: first with a letter, then with the lip,

Then you grab the pocket knife you keep in your dresser,

And you carve your face to relieve the pain.

Con the viper with its nightmares of empathy,

And rise from your body, and look into its eyes, in yours.

If you see any glint of blue, then caress it back into its corner to rest