Anger

When I walk a dark alley swallowing my anger, there was no flower of the season that may soothe my ill-will or flow of time that would carry my animosity away, except uncontrollable wrath within me. Shoulders that carry anger were broken down from a weight of another tomb stone, the dark cloud hanging on my head coming with closed eyes roams to a horizon in a wilderness to find a victim for a blood offering. When I was hesitating to step forward from fear, thinking, if my whole body filled with the tattoo of anger such as this, [it’s strange] someone sobbing under my feet.