Cracked Lid

Words. Angry words. They float through my head, flirt with my speech as my tongue silently rolls the letters into shape. I am once again effected. Mournfully lonely and irritably surrounded by those I wish not to be around. Contention wafts heavily through the air. It is that itchy silence. No one will speak for they know that it will only be returned by even more aggravated tones. The obvious lack of words actively spoken only operates to accentuate the endlessly annoying noises produced by living things. Footsteps, chewing, banging around each one eating away at the already malnourished emotional stability. Muscles tighten as fists begin to shake. Irrational thought builds to a dangerous climax, and fury boils up from beneath a cracked lid. As if perfectly timed, the intensified yet light rhythm of the progressive music builds and as the words are pieced more masterfully, more logically the angry syllables and infuriating noises become less and less audible…Fuck, and this time I just wanted to set loose.