Anger

how often 
have I 
stood here 
on the edge of madness, 
ready to jump 
with 
clenched fists 
pacing back and forth, 
broken… while you 
stood there 
content, 
to see me wallow 
bleed 
among depths of despair. 
my doomed echoes 
reverberating 
on padded walls 
dismissed, as usual 
and you 
so sure of yourself 
that 
I would 
take this leap 
as before 
with 
no remorse, no recourse 
of consequence to my soul, 
no more. 
the winds have 
shifted, 
and veils were lifted 
as I saw you 
for what you are, 
empty 
pitiful, 
pathetic 
and yet 
strangely enough, 
with my nostrils 
filled 
with nothing, but 
your putrid stench 
of desperation, 
did you really think 
I was willing, 
twisted enough 
to catch you, 
still...

Twisted