My fathers S0n

It's inside you. The anger of at least three generations of rage filled men. 

You're your father's son and there is no escaping your fate.

You tell them you need to cool off before it overwhelms you, but end up aching and clawing at your skin in rooms all alone hiding from those you love. You can attempt to control it, understand it, cope with it. But It doesn't matter it'll spew forth like a rotting vomit full or maggots and blood. Coating everything around you with blinding seething rage. Disgusting, unholy, spews of anger that's mere stench will drive away anyone who comes near you. 

You're a monster. You hate yourself for it. You're just apart of a legacy of angry men. 
You try so so hard to fight against it; the anger issues given to you through blood but you'll never win.

And what's the worst part? Even this alone makes you angry.