His anger, at first like an
Open wound,
Scabbed over in time but
Remained red hot inside.
It clotted,
Dark red and brown
Mixing like a dangerous potion.
When hard crusts formed on its edges,
His anger was almost forgotten.
"It's for protection," she would say.
I nodded and looked away.
Finally, when it broke and
Anger oozed from his every pore,
I looked at her again.
The open wounds were hers.