At first it blooms
Under the skin
That scarlet flower
Spreading out
Unfurling anger
In petals denoting
Lack of self-expression
Stamens of hate
Flowering
The pollen travelling
Deeper into battered soul
Sowing seeds
Of anger returning
A black self-loathing
Of failure
Blaming pathetic actions
When looking inward
To oneself
A poison that seeps
To the very bones
Soon may the flower wither
Purple, curling in
But that first bloom
Is only the beginning
Of a cycle
So hard to break