volcanica
the sob wrapped its fingers around her throat,
but she wouldn’t be stopped.
knowing it would trigger the magma,
summon the lava,
beg the fire up from her deep black depths.
sterile like a smoke-hot pan it dissects
epidermis
dermis
hypodermis.
buries its razor sharp head into
vessels that gasp and quake,
tectonic plates shift their weight
and the eruption has begun.
fire surges up from within
splitting along those old familiar lines
(it’s always her fault)
behind her eyes it
burns away the optic nerves,
tears born as steam.
overflowing its banks
the inferno sears back alleys through brain tissue
rips bone from cartilage,
gently her arc heads toward the ground.
synapses spontaneously combust —
(no that’s a lie, she’s never spontaneous
destiny dragged her down this path
with the same mind-numbing certainty
of the patient’s head against a padded wall)
subduction without seduction —
and her continent is adrift,
numb with freedom
she will be the ash that falls
long after her bones are gone.
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