Fighting with Anger

Anger hunts me down 

and sneaks up
behind me.

He drags me down
by the shoulders.

I try running
but he
pins me to the ground
and spits in my face,
taunting me
“Come on, do it. Do it!”

I‘m not going
to play his game.

“Get off me.”

His insect face laughs
at me
as he drools saliva.

I try ducking the dripping
slime but I feel it
in my hair
humiliating and inescapable.

I want to just be
free of it.

His laughter echoes
in my head.
“Come on, what are you,
a pussy? Are you gonna take
this shit from me?”

My body summons its strength
and I knee him in the groin
as he topples off me.

I can still hear his laughter.

I stand over him and
and start kicking his head.

It bobbles
somehow still connected
“is that all you got?”

I stomp my heel
on his heaving thorax
over and over
trying to put out this evil flame.

He’s almost dead.
I leap as high as I can
and with both feet
come down hard
and he splatters
into a stench-ridden puddle
of tissue.

Some of it has
splashed onto my shoes
and my pant leg
but I don’t care.
I’m convinced
that I’ve handled
the problem.

I don’t look back
as I walk away
but I hear that mocking laughter

and I know
I’ve just played his game again

and lost again.

[Posted for #OpenLinkNight at www.dversepoets.com the best site for poets on the whole damned Internet.]