tiresome drone of misdirected ire
bitterness flows in waves
in quantities that should drown us all.
do they feel the fire
like a headache,
or even a slight itch on the arm,
or maybe a faint muscle spasm?
your hatred, a traffic cone in a field of daisies
your anger, an ax chopping air
your venom, a wickless candle in the sun
they notice you like eagles fear flying
like oceans avoid fish
like time waits
looking for better ways to occupy the mind