...anger swells ready to burst...at people..at this town.. at myself.

I can't even type complete sentences. I'm so fucking furious.

permenent scowl. Countenance sagging. Can pretend talk nice for mailman. Weather, rainy, tell me about it.
tear this fucking building up by its foundation. Kick computers. Smash windows....

demon has followed me all day. I need something to do. Idle hands are the tools of the devil. They cause anger first. Then depression. When I cannot contain my anger and it continues to mount, I am at risk to sink.

Anger makes writing easy for me. But it doesn't produce quality. Quality is emotionless, it has constraints. Within these constraints, creativity is possible. Although it's is very controlled.

Anger produces only negatives. Violence, bad writing and foolish decisions. This makes me even more upset that I have this problem.

Asshole with a tattoo on his neck. DC shoe co pants. I bet he's never seen a skateboard. He'd probably fall right off. I hate this guy, I never want to see his pathetic ass ever again. I do not even know his name, nor do I want to. Because then it would be hard to hate him. He probably goes to AA and talks about temptation and feelings. And a pretty girlfriend. Oh it's so romantic watching monkeys kiss.