This Is Rage

Inside the confusion of not knowing why

the walls seem bare,

with little written proclamations,

without guidance,

this is the rage that always remains,

I call it depression,

seems an easy term nowadays,

more and more people are buying into it,

oh yeah, I suppose that has to do with his

depression,

I’d imagine her behavior has only evolved because,

she’s depressed.

Again, the walls part,

they remain, and sometimes I’d like to walk through,

in fact,

rip apart everything I own,

if only for a minute,

I could feel satisfied,

I could feel like this is all worth while,

the anxiety, the pills, the drugs, the experments,

the rejections, the loss, the victory, the sunset,

and always that wait to be sure the sun

will rise again.

What if it didn’t I mean really,

what if he did become our President,

and how terrible would it be

if suddenly the TV stopped broadcasting

everything it is they wanted us to hear,

every word they decided wold be stated tonight,

what if then we suddenly became the pawn,

we feared we might be already,

what about the chance to never anticipate why?

I try to pass that off as rage.