Anger is the dubious luxury of normal men. 

Anger wraps me up like a thick blanket keeping me warm and cozy.  Sometimes I remember what I am angry about and I spew out venom all over my husband.  Other times, I forget because I am so comfortable and make passive aggressive statements that infuriate and hurt him.  I try to find someone safe to release my anger to only to find myself a weeping mess of snot and tears.  

I think the word I am looking for is seething.  Anger lies just below the surface.  I smile and fain sanity to those I pass in hallways, on sidewalks.  It is like the skin with the hot milk.  The skin creates a layer between the air and the boiling milk.  The boiling milk just boils rough and hot beneath. 

Anger makes me believe it is everyone else's fault.  Everything that does not meet my expectation perpetuates this anger.  If you dare to enter my sphere, be prepared, it is your fault.  I don't care what it is, it is your fault.  Anger is so self destructive, overwhelmingly immense and uncontrollable for me.  I don't know it's there until someone asks me.  

God save me from being angry.  Amen.