Anger

They’re talking to me again.
Smiling, grimacing, shattering my feelings again.
They say things like, “We understand,” “We care,” “We know where you’re coming from.”

BOLLOCKS.

Nobody understands. Nobody cares. Nobody gets it.
Heart scrunched. Stomach twisted. I’m fucking fed up.
I grab my coat and head for the door.
Someone grabs my hand, pulling me back, laughing, trying to thrust a drink into it.
My face aches as I force a smile at him.
“Aw, come on. Have a large one! Make you forget the bastards, HAHA!”

I want to smack his face.
I want to watch the blood drip from his broken nose, hear the crunch of bone.
But I smile.

“THERE YOU GO!” he guffaws, like the idiot he is.
“Just the thought has you happy again!”
Moron.

Cardboard people. No real thoughts, no real emotions.
They sit there, smiling inanely at each other, chatting about their stupid topics—UKIP, CONSERVATIVES, RELIGION, WHO WON AT THE RACES…

WHO THE FUCK CARES?!

I take the outstretched glass from his hand, and holding it out in front of him,
I purposely drop it on the floor.
The glass tinkles as it shatters, spraying shards across the floor, glancing off a woman’s ankles.

“SHIT!” she yells.

The room slows.
I see everything, frame by frame.
The monsters show their faces through the wallpaper, horns waggling at me, singing, “Naughty, naughty!”

The idiot man stands there, hand still outstretched, mouth open, eyes wide.
He looks down at the glass shards and looks up just in time to see my fist smash into his nose.

Walking out the door unbothered,
I smile and head home to walk the dog.