Feral

There's a bit more tension in my step and, while I'm usually a little bit chatty and friendly and all of this, my nerves are on edge. There is a low, guttural, primal growl in my ears all the time.

When I get home, I think about the past few weeks. I think about things I can't say. I think about the person emerging from within me. I don't even know how to describe him. He's not Erik, but he's not me as people would remember either.

I spend all of my free thoughts on thinking about punching or kicking things. I have to work at being calm even when there's no one around. I don't even know what to fully call this. Maybe this is the concept of Man alive in me. I don't know what to call it.

I feel wild. Feral. If you hear me roar, that's while. If my edges seems sharper, they are.