Magma

Hot to the touch my temperature boils

It fumes and steams from my very core,

Inside and out it threatens to overtake me.

It’s most desired that it be controlled, suppress it.

Suppression is unhealthy, it festers beneath the surface

As molten magma seals over the top, beneath remains precarious

So menacingly close to opening up, spilling forth the toxic waste called hate

Not much is required to trigger this hate, it’s ripe and fresh settling from its recency

Similar to the topmost sedimentary layers, it’s plain to see, the scars are fresh upon my flesh

Tears stain my eyes causing pain, a hotness builds within me to replace the sadness, this is worse.

This hate is evil,                        it’s a mask                        warding off              friendly aid

  I feel like I’m                             drowning                      won’t somebody          save me?

    No, I think                                 it might                            possibly be                 too late

        For                                               me                                         this                           time.

• This poem entails our own anger and how it can settle beneath the surface of our emotions. Any little thing can "push us over the edge" simply because we don't deal with our anger, we push it down and it bottles up until a tiny annoyance tips us over again.