<![CDATA[The Words of Anger, They, Overflowed from the Pen]]>

<![CDATA[The Words of Anger, They, Overflowed from the Pen]]>This is why, I still kept that LOCK on my “bibles”…so nobody can flip through the pages, and then, SCREAM at me like she’d done from when I was a teenager, for what I’d expressed…

not my photograph…

The words of anger, they overflowed from the pen, and, it’s like, that pen I’m holding had taken on, a life of its own, it’d just, started, scribbling, nonstop.

The words of anger, they overflowed from the pen, and it was like, my writing pen had, taken on a life all its own, and I was only, a means, holding on to it, so it can become, steadied, and start cranking out, those awful, strange thoughts of anger that I’m sure, that I’d never felt before…

not my photo still…

The words of anger, they overflowed from the pen, and, the more I wrote, the angrier I’d felt, and, it got to the point, that I was so fucking (oopy!!!) furious, that I’d needed to, stop myself, because I was, shakin’ so god DAMN hard, from the words of anger that had, overflown out of, this pen I was holding on to.

nope, still NOT my photograph here…

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