Outburst.

I want to pound my fist into the day until their is nothing left but screams and gasps, the terrified glare of "what if" and every bleeding moment that could have been a different reaction.

I want to kill your idols and make peers cry, rage beyond the destruction, reset it all, a pile of rubble and a glistened tear swallowed by dusted and broken blocks, of cement and brick, clearing out just in time for the morning coffee and the no pulp OJ.

Break the bones of annoyances, assault, assault, assault. I want to take the rudest mouth and fish hook it's cheek so everyone can see it. A certain way will be established, and it's mine, and it's right, and in all the arrogance and the glory, and the war, the dust will clear and things will be normal again.

After the bodies are cleaned.