The insensation of rage

Rage doesn’t happen at the snap of a finger.

It builds up, as words get flung like spears laced with poison and contempt, as voices start to echo in the dysphonic cacophony of clashing cymbals, and as your heartbeat goes from pitter-pat to thud-thud to deep bass EDM–

It overtakes you like an ocean wave, sucks you down underneath into a riptide, leaves you helpless and incoherent and blinded.

And next thing you know, you are screaming, hands clenched into fists, jaw locked in rictus, and every muscle tensed from neck to ankle, unsure of how you got there, unsure if you’ll survive it, unsure of your physical reality, unsure of everything but the screaming.

Just the screaming.

One thought on “The insensation of rage

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