Do you ever just look at your shadow and feel every single molecule of your body just give in to nothingness, to the point where you almost deflate and become one with the void?

Yeah, I guess not. I don’t know what I’m talking about, either.

Your shadow is all you see of yourself without the help of a human invention. The only way I could see myself without having to stare at my ugly face for a long period of time.

I thought that I had my anger issues controlled, but I was wrong. I simply allowed it to remain dormant, resting until… Well, you know. When a jar tries to contain something that is way bigger than its mass, there is only one way for it to come out.

And that will never be a pretty thing.

In the teensy space of the shower, the light casts a shadow on the wall.

The shape of my head.

After doing the whole “write what you feel, write what you hear, write what you see,” experiment for Reading as a Writer, I could feel nothing but anger.

Unrestrained anger. Unchecked rage. Pure and raw.

The hot water spews from the showerhead and it scorches my back. I feel no pain.

A droplet of water drips from the end of a strand of my hair and I feel water trickle down my cheek and I know it’s not a tear but I’d rather it be a tear because I just cannot stand the idea of my rage being dry.

I punch the shower wall but I’m at the same time afraid of breaking it, instead of my knuckles. I’m afraid of my roommate hearing it just beyond the door.

There is nothing but blind rage.






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