Killing Me Quickly

Frustration; its the feeling you get from feeling too much heat in the kitchen.
Annoyance; its the feeling you get from loosing your keys, misplaced once again for the millionth time this week.

I can feel it right under my skin,
like being able to clearly see my blood flow.
A once rushing river, in recent droughts became so thin,
and without much more effort I'll let it blow.

Boom- like explosions,
pain, its the rattling of many ears
misfires, the earth to fall under constant erosion.
a loose cannon- this is what everyone fears.

A dark desire surfacing- snap necks,
but its taken out on these walls instead-
the paint and plaster holed, cracked, miserably flecks.
The scars of fury just above my bed.

Don't give in, they say.
Just brush it off, they say.
But there's only so much to be said
when its done every fucking day.

Some new set of criticisms to make me wane,
in this place I find I mustn't really complain
because I'm earning my keep,
but there's so little time left- I can't allow myself to be so drained.

Anger; its the feeling you get from searing hot flesh accidentally placed on your kitchen burner.
Depression; its the feeling you get from trying to fix yourself up only to find you've got no more clean bandages.

There's nothing clean
because the same cloth gets used again and again
to bind the same wound that does nothing but bleed,
and all I find myself saying at the end of the day is a pleading, "Amen."

I've been praying and hoping,
silently wishing, quietly whispering,
patiently waiting and still wondering
when I will be done with this bleeding and suffering.

So I continue to wait, as many are want to do
and I must ignore everyone's subtle, douchebaggery cues.
Yes, I did make that word up
to describe some people, with sparing venom, well it comes just close enough.

My anger seethes beneath the surface like steady beating drums,
because what we did when we were young is no longer acceptable- no more tantrums,
so we adapt and morph into silent killers,
creating class-A, tragic, after we've finally snapped, thrillers.

Irritation; its the feeling you get from bug bites you can't keep yourself from scratching.
Agony; its the feeling you get from not seeing the end in sight when you've already been running an eternity.

Hurry up and just kill me quickly.