I don't bottle my emotions anymore, for bottles are too fragile for this fire

Instead I sink them in the active volcano that lies in my chest

Like Tolkien's ring they are engulfed by the flaming magma

Yet unlike his tale they are not gone when they seem to burn up

Instead they agitate nature's precious balance,

Making pressure build and the earth of my body shake.

The more I bury these feelings the closer to destruction I come

Telling myself this is the better option, to hide them away and deal with them later

But this fiery mountain help in place by a ribcage is no ordinary landscape.

It is Krakatoa, Vesuvius, and St. Helens, muddled into one furious beast

My well-being is Indonesia, Pompeii, and Washington, ravaged or destroyed by its unleashing

I'll cap it repeatedly with stone and pressure to keep the lava inside its core

But nature knows no bounds and neither does my self-destruction