[content warning: use of violent imagery, particularly fire]
Anger and I do not get along well. Anger drains me. Anger wears away at my mind. My anger, other’s anger, doesn’t matter. Anger is a fire that burns all it touches, leaving me raw.
His voice gains an edge, the sound of anger enters his tone. My body recoils from the unseen burn. Involuntarily, I withdraw into myself, trying to escape.
Anger hurts me. In ways I cannot really explain, anger sears my being. I do not need to be the target to be burned, simply being present is enough for me.
Others do not understand. They question why I let it bother me. They don’t understand how anger can hurt. Neither do I.
I try to muddle through. Hold myself tight to keep from sliding away. It’s just a conversation, right? No reason for it to bother me.
Writhing energy twist my insides but I hold tight. Must push through. Too weak. Too sensitive. Must hold myself to the flames and ignore my burning flesh.
But why? Why do I subject myself to this? Must blend in. Must not appear less than. I struggle to understand why the fire that burns me leaves so many others unaffected.
The fire burns within me. Anger boils through my veins, growing stronger as it devours my being. Dark thoughts begin. Violent urges. To smash. To hit. To bite. What do you mean you don’t understand the overwhelming desire to sink in teeth?
Anger doesn’t make sense. Anger is pain and violence.
I want to flee from the flames. I need to escape before I am consumed.
Maybe I run out of fear
When the flames consume me and are done, what will be left?