Angst at twenty-eight

I want to scream at the top of my lungs;
So hard and so loud, that
All the hurt, all the rage
All the sorrows, and all the agony
Leave me and my body free
And dissipate into the air. 
All these emotions are weighing me down.
Like an anchor dropped down in the sea of despair.


Everybody is a liar and hypocrite. I'm sick, and I hate everyone. I wish to run far, far away. Farther away from all these people who say they love me. They're the ones who, without any understanding, want to chain me down and conform to them, their whims, their likes, dislikes.

I sound like an angst-y teen today.

But all of this is all too real.