furnace

Explosive internal nervousness & anxiety, and a lump of emotion in my throat that feels like jumping out if I start talking about what I want it to be like. If it does I'll melt away in tears, acidic with my ungratefulness.

My slow pace is both keeping it down and helping it swell, absorbing every minute I waste, every calorie I allow myself to swallow. It is not really me feeding it - rather, the often-ignored, home-ridden girl who reaches out desperately for any passing judgments, not-quite-rights, floating fears. Some she uses to kindle the explosive hearth, some she allows to escape, some she feeds to the swollen thing. Process is black-dust and staining, her whole body like a charcoal figure chiaroscuro. She grinds shadows whole for her meals, so her whole self is coated, filled.

No one saw her.
Walking past normally nothing could be seen, darkness
Smoke around, trailing, whispering life, but nothing alive

Until some one saw her