anger controls your words, twists them and shakes them of their clothes,
naked, they hurt.
no cushioning.
there are some conversations that you can never forget, because of these very bare naked words, stripped of their ghosts of grammer and language.
pure rage.
does it mean something.
even if you try to tel yourself it was anger, once those words are out there in the world, naked for everyone to see and mock and notice with vulgar glances, the respect can never be regained.
which is why i keep shut.
the doors sometimes lock so tight that no amount of knocking and banging can get the sound across.
the peep holes are taped.
dont think its you...
its me.
it always was.
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