The Dangers of Fury

Bubbling, blistering anger,
It overcomes my mind.
It makes my whole body
Shake with the tremor of a
Thousand inner earthquakes.

My thoughts are cloaked in
The color and feel of blood
And violence. That nice doormat,
Well, you just killed her.
Now you've got to deal with FURY.

Fury, in me, becomes like a
Force of nature. I can just
Imagine myself launching at
Somebody, wailing on them, and
All that's left is a bloody, pulpy mush.

All my morals go against murder.
I'm against physical fighting. I'm
Against hurting others, and I don't
Like making fists. But Fury, well,
She likes to try and break my Peace.

When She's got a hold of my Brain,
And I can't think of anything peaceful,
That's when I pull out my big bargain.
See, Fury, she wants to see blood. She
Wants to feel the physical pain of a fight.

So, when part of me switches off, and
I just don't give a fuck, I scare myself.
But fixing it is so, so simple. I rush
To my tools. I scamper to safety;
I open them up, and I draw.

This drawing, though, it's done in blood.
My blood. I hurt myself before I hurt others.
I'll beat myself up when I'm mad. When
All I want to do is see someones' guts all
Over a floor, I got cut. It's weirdly calming.

I get to see the blood, and feel the
Sweet scratches. I do something memorable,
So that I can never foreget that person and
Get taken advantage of so badly by another.
It saves me from becoming someone I don't want to be.

With each scratch, the sting worsens.
When it begins to be bothered and it
Actually hurts, that's when I know it's safe.
I can stop, because Fury has been beat back.
I can re-emerge that peaceful Autumn Breeze.