Covering the rage

A poem of anger and hatred towards the other half for being a blanket hog.

The pounding palpatation, the moistening of palms
Swallowing, an obstacle, wave goodbye to calm
Breathing now is labored, balling of the fist
Paranoid my eyes have bled, consumed in a red mist
It's lucky that my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth
At least I'm keeping some control of things I shouldn't shout
Things I shouldn't scream and rage and spasm til I ache
Hands behind my back so I dont punch you in the face
It's not that I'm not used to it, it happens every night
It's the root of every problem, subject of every fight
The time has come to ask myself, how longer can I hack it.
Or the answer to a good night's sleep?
Sleep with seperate blankets.