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.
