My dad and I, after some mild shopping, ventured over to my younger brother's place to rest, then my mind floated elsewhere during a peaceful moment. I dissociated and had thoughts of past violators, images of a baseball bat gripped tightly in my hands then bringing it down upon the back of their skulls. Trapped inside my brain, never to be unleashed by my conscience, luckily. I don't express my anger often. In fact, most people think I'm a complete wimp and take liberties with me. When I sit on all this, this volcano that's bubbling within, the only thing that gets burnt is my ass, while others admire how I never get angry. I smile and say some stupid joke, or just smile, then wonder why I can't sleep at night without leaving the TV on. I use to pour all my emotional baggage on my therapist and come away brimming with more of its contents, yet still wondered why I never felt better.