Venting Poetry?

Is this a thing? I don't know. I had to throw something up, but didn't have any specific complaints at the moment... I just wanted to vent.

I wasn't sure where to go, what was going on in my head,
As I lay there staring at the ceiling I felt a tear twisting through my chest,
The agony came first with the beating of my heart,
The heat of blood, the pressure and the anger came second like a train;

Rushing through my arteries, the artillery of anger flew through me,
It threw me, my body, my mind and my soul against the storm of my own making,
Angrily I looked towards it, ice and rain cutting through me, causing harm,
'Til I realised the storm was merely me, my own creation come to take me,
In the mirror I stared at the storm inside, the fog on glass, the deathly stare,
The corpse reflected back at me, it's eyes were empty, black, bare;

But as the realisation brought me deeper down, I found some minor comfort,
My heart had no more complaints, no more ice to throw upon me,
A peace came by and sat beside me, knew I'd be fine and faded by,
The storm had passed and I could see the path that I should follow,
A day new day dawn, the corpse will rise, slowly life returning to its eyes,
Each day by day, he'll travel now, here unto the Morrow.