On Anger

The words glide from her lips, effortlessly slithering across the room, sights set on his all too fragile heart. Like a deadly serpent, fangs protruding, heavy with a venom more deadly than any held by physiological limitations.

She feels the familiar pang of guilt at her own callousness. As much as she wills the words back into her throat, they do not heed her calls. The serpent of anger carries a fiery venom that threatens to penetrate the very core of being and slowly burn away at the soft center of the mind.