Those flowers on my walls

She stared at me with discontent and I felt the blood coarse through my veins like a freight-train on a one-way destination with no worries or no lives to save in the process.

"What the hell is your problem?!" she asked me, but I had no answer. Instead, I stand there, my rage burning and seething directly below the surface, waiting for the opportune moment to snap. "I have no problem" I reply, indifferently. She scoffs at my pathetic attempt to wipe the situation clean from my back and then she proceeds to mock and defile who I am in a series of offensive laughs that make my eyes burn and my face twitch for lack of reason.

I'd fallen in love with this woman years ago and now my love has shifted. It went from her, a 38 year old mother of my children and love of my life to the 14 year old body of my daughter's best-friend. How it happened I'll never truly be able to explain, but one with sight and similar feelings might be able to answer that question for me.

"You're sick!" she tells me. I cannot deny this. I stand there appropriating my gaze to whatever feels least awkward at the moment. "You're a fucking creep!" she yells in my direction. My eyes look up to her now, she openly burns her rage. Mine is down. My rage is at the center and the core of the human infrastructure waiting until someone finally snaps and breaks me open like a glowstick.

I've thought how this moment would go various times throughout my tenure with the girl, but I could never come to a logical conclusion on the subject. Instead, I would play it over in my head and each time my wife would be less angry at me. Now, as I stand her with my pride in my right hand pocket all I can think is that this was far worse than I'd ever expected.

"You dirty, old, fucking loser!" she calls me. I perk up, my cheek twitches and I walk forward. I grab a picture off of the wall without looking at it. "What are you doing now?!" she yells to me. I continue marching toward her as she's backing away. I get her in the corner, lift up with the glass picture frame and let go on her face. I destroy her beauty and I demolish her ability to call me names. I don't quit. The glass is long gone at this point (noted by the amount left in her face) and she lay there still, lifeless.