Am I a Volcano?
They had warned me about
lava, the orange valley of death that flows.
Its growling, choking ash, as if the wrath of
demons, it glows. Mushrooming trenches of mortality,
hidden even in the plainest sight.
Sweet revenge for bittersweet
memories, a pitifully dormant might.
When clouds of agony take over, sanity is just so hard to see.
They had warned me about volcanoes, and
I grew one right inside me.
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