Volcanic

I can feel the pressure welling up from my stomach. I recognize the familiar tectonic shift behind my skin and prepare for the attempted eruption. When it catches in my throat and my eyes remain dry and unaffected, the play button in my head instantly cues and loops....the prayer for completion. The plea to anything listening to help pull the moisture out, to help me release. For days I taste the lava in my throat and feel it cool. With every kind word, every flash of that smile, every movement that tenses the mirrored bruises of his teeth on my shoulder comes the familiar scent of sulfur. I move quicker now, trying to outrun the the smell and the shift...chanting the usual interrogation. "You knew the circumstances. You were aware that the moment his lips brushed against yours, another piece of you would be torn away and consumed. Not 'mine'. Never mine....You never could share, never played well with others. You hand over the blade every time you choose to foster this fantasy. Now lick your wounds and pay your penance." I scream the justification over the looping melody, trying desperately to dull the sound of my own begging. When a short response shifts the plates again, I furrow my brows and try to shake the demons out of my hair. When my throat is full again with aborted hopes and wishes, I swallow hard and heave greedy breaths. I don't try to stop the track or smother the begging this time. When I light my cigarette, I feel the contrast on my face and reach to brush the cool wet path.... For a moment, I think to question my sanity, to really think about why on earth I'd be smiling over these few unexpected tears rolling down my cheeks. Instead, I inhale. There's still no hope of being whole....but this time, there's no sulfur either.