Ah shit.
I feel the heat smack against my chest.
Bubbles rise to the surface of my boiling blood and pop. Blame it on hormones, 'pettiness', being triggered by the fallen one, but today I'm mad.
Matter of fact I'm fuming. Bitch I'm fucking mad. Suddenly, all things that require remembrance have been forgotten and remembered are all those things I need not.
Sometimes, i want to rip out that rewind button for times like this. Chuck a grenade for all I care, so I avoid re-enacting my re-evaluated reaction.
I feel the heat smack against my chest.
Oh you should've never did me wrong.
Bubbles rise to the surface of my boiling blood and pop. No thermometer can hack this stir of rage without cracking, 'Fuming degrees Celscius'.
Ah shit.
YOU ARE READING
Poetic-ish II
PoetryA continuation from book one of my many forms of expressions. I give you raw and unfiltered reality. Poetic-ish II, began in 2020.
