A lifetime transformation of a violent temper has left has cooled my nerves and actions but left me with a cellar full of bottled emotions. Quick to think, but slow to react I funneled each angered moment in it’s on personal vessel to be safety stored in the darkest corners of my own mind. Never to be touched, never to be altered, never to be dealt with. Self-restraint has tried to rid me of hells rage: body temperature rises, eyes widen, teeth grit, and my actions are taken over by my subconscious which acts before I have time to think. My conscience takes a back seat to rage and rage hold the keys to my body, my mouth, my sprit. Everything happens in slow motion. These demons, it resides in these bottles, these bottled of emotions. The ones I hide for fear of revelation will be taken unheard, un-listened to, unreturned—crushed. I liked, I cared, I loved. I disliked, I loathed, I hated. I can’t take anymore. I have become indifferent. I have emotions but have become unemotional. I have become a person shielded from the masses. A loner. A one man team. Appearing nonchalant. Appearing not to be bothered. Time’s lessons taught me a layer of thick skin. Thick skin allowing me to take the worst to achieve life’s best. It failed. She got inside, and as my body tensed, temperature rose, hands gripped the wheel I prepared for the worst but was surprised by emotion in it’s purist form. The liquid seeps porn from the cellar, born in my eye, worn on my cheek, and scorn died in my lip. At that moment I commenced funeral service for my first tear shed from bottled emotions.