A poem about my mania.

Emotional Minefield:

The anger, it comes. It comes with fierce passion. It's hidden behind perfumed sweaters and manic smiles. It's hidden in this glass house with steal basement walls. The intensity nears rage, and I spit clouds of fire. But it just comes.

The arrogance, it comes. It comes with fleeting measure. It's hidden behind polished humility and painful composure. It's hidden well in meek little words. It's hidden in magnetic walls that contort reality into shame. Pride pulses through me, to my core. But it just comes.

I'm furiously dancing though past memories and my heart pounds intensely. How will I survive this emotional minefield? I am seething. I am writhing. I am screaming. Such elusive delusions bring only confusion. Caution averted; sanity defiled. I am torn to pieces by merciless explosives. I will never overcome this minefield. It just comes.