I will. I will be mad.

Punch. Punch a punching bag.

Bruise my arms like I always do.

Break. Cause internal bleeding.

I won't be mad. I will be angry, enraged, FURIOUS!

The punching bag will stand though.

I called. No answer.

I was choking in silence.

Then I let it consume me.

You've never witnessed it. Good.

The further you're away, the more it grows.

The more I've come to like it.

It's growth. It supplies more then enough to, get rid of my cravings.

I called. No answer.

I will. I left a voicemail.

So listen away. -beep-