TimeBomb

I worry that it is secretly hurting.
Leaving no traces on the surface,
but underneath eroding.
Pressure slowly building,
like a dangerous gas leak.
A time bomb ticking,
waiting to explode as we speak.
Every wound is another pound of pressure,
another burden to bear,
another shackle to my ankle.
When the dust has settled, the damage remains unseen.
Like internal bleeding.
A wound on the inside.
Like the turmoil in suburban homes,
invisible from the well groomed lawns.
But underneath, an earthquake is stirring.
A fire, waiting to ignite.
Implode.
A big red button, shaking with anticipation to be pushed.
Explode.
I worry that every little thing,
is pulling me tighter and tighter,
like a string.
Til one day I will break under the pressure,
Snap under the crushing force
and cease to be anymore.




A repeat of what happened before.