It festers like a sebaceous cyst. Deep under the skin, your anger rots and creates a stinking ooze. It seems sometimes that this boiling thick jelly will come pouring out of your mouth, eyes and nose holes like a soapy discharge at the next person who looks at you and says "At least you have a job".

At least.

At least you have.

It's the scalpel that pierces the flesh and allows this fountain of hate and filth to come erupting from the hole it tore in your existence.

As this volcano of scum and blood pours from your gut your hands instinctively yet unconsciously reach out for the neck of the person who auditorilly assaulted you with their speech bubbles of inanity...
Then come the lights. The screams of children. The sirens. The impending doom that you now have to face.
You've done it this time, son.

This is the one.

You'd better run till your lungs explode like an overinflated tire. Run till your feet turn to pâté and legs are just imaginary items you used to have.

Run.

Till it all goes

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.