You build up in my mind sometimes and it reaches the point of no looking back.
I imagine myself finally giving up and I throw things,
even the things I love,
I hear them crash against the walls and I just want to tear them apart too.
It feels good to think about sometimes,
but it only makes me angry.
Angry at life.
Angry at myself.
There are so many things I could be upset about,
but when it happens, it affects me none.
It just builds up and before I know it,
it feels like someone’s foot is on my forehead,
pushing.