I am an angry
miserable mother fucker
when I look in the mirror
with only myself to blame
if I punched the reflection looking back at me Continue reading »
I would break through several sheets of glass
hearing the cacophony of laughter
from generations past
I am not Jack Torrence.
I am not Jack Torrence.
I am not Jack Torrence.
I am not Jack Torrence.
I am not Jack Torrence.
I am not Jack Torrence.
I am not Jack Torrence.
I am not Jack Torrence.
Yet I see myself in that photograph time after time, smiling.
I know that look, Jack.
It’s the same one I get when I drink.
It’s funny because, as I’m sure you know, the alcohol stays in the blood for sometime after
the last drop
The anger is always easy to rise.
It is a chemical transformation;
one which burns with fire if you watch the eyes.
It’s always within the eyes.
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