Therapy Bits

It starts as a whisper behind my eyes,
A flicker of flame where silence lies.
But silence never stays for long—
It churns, it claws, it knows it’s strong.

The rage I feel is a living thing,
A serpent coiled with a poison sting,
It hisses truths I tried to drown,
Then rises up to burn me down.

It cracks the mask I wear each day,
Peels it off in a violent flay,
And underneath—no calm, no grace,
Just raw red heat in a hollowed face.

I punch the air; the air won’t bleed.
I scream, but sound won’t meet the need.
The world still spins with smug disdain,
Oblivious to my loaded vein.

Don’t tell me “breathe.” Don’t speak of peace.
This fire’s not one you tame or lease.
It’s not a moment that will pass—
It’s molten glass behind the glass.

So let it break. Let fury roar.
Let fists shatter the sacred door.
This storm, this blaze, this violent seal—
This is the rage I feel.

rage – The Daily Spur