Swallowing my own venom

I bite my tongue and inject poison into my system. Its slow-eating, creeping effect is like acid erosion from the inside out. I try to maintain composure, smile and nod and even laugh occasionally.  I have to, I have no other choice. But even as I try, my ugly insides cannot remain clothed, encased. The festering is obvious and annoying. I'm a monster, infecting myself over and over again with the very poison I myself have created. The recycling of poison in my system manifests as the nagging, insatiable, tormentous wife who tears down hopes and dreams. I look on with dull, listless eyes to the earnestness and titillation springing forth from your shoulders; the me behind my face screams with shame and apology for the way I am, but it doesn't crack the exterior of detachment, dispassion, or disdain. I leave God to smite this wretched, vile soul of mine for there is nothing else left for Him to do.