Feelings/Gray Skies

The skies are gray. These eyes never dry. The scream surges up my throat. It takes too much to keep them at bay. Joy was lost somewhere between 27 and 35. My blood boils with anger. My fists clench. The skies are gray. I am blue. No Pollyanna words can assuage my feelings. Unmoored. I drift in a sea of faces. I don't want to be in these places. Antisocial. It takes so much energy to be vocal. The gray skies remain. Am I insane? The gray skies wait outside my window. The anger grows. I want to punch faces. The rain falls from my eyes. I don't want to be in this place.