Anger Within

There are those who suppress their anger.
And there are those who feed it.

The entity known only as The Anger Within is not born—it is cultivated. Layer by layer, moment by moment, every insult swallowed, every betrayal endured, every ounce of fury denied its voice… it grows.

It takes root beneath the skin.

At first, it whispers—tightening the chest, clenching the jaw, coiling in silence. But over time, it spreads. Tendrils of rage wind through muscle and bone, binding themselves to the very structure of the host.

Until one day… it surfaces.

The body fractures to make room for it. Flesh splits, not from injury—but from expansion. The rage no longer fits inside.

And when it emerges, it does not scream.

It grins.

Because this is the moment it has been building toward—the moment it no longer has to be contained.

It is not mindless.
It remembers everything.

Every slight. Every wound. Every name.

And now… it collects.