#My 9th grade science teacher always said that if you put a frog in boiling hot water it would jump out

[through-blue-eyes]

Frog Soup

Grief is a funny thing.

They say it is like a ocean,

Riding in on waves

Ebbing,

    Flowing.

          Calm,

                Overwhelming.

Seeking to bury you in an ocean of your despair.

My grief is much more destructive.

It moves below the surface, all consuming.

Fueling my intensity,

Wearing a different mask each day.

Anxiety.

    Exhaustion.

                                  Isolation.

A mask, to make me forget what it really is.

Forget that it’s there.

Forget that it is slowly rising.

Building up with no way to release.

A waiting game for the perfect conditions

      A

     Deadly

                                          Slow

                                                             Build

The chamber is full, the pressure is intensifying

And then, with the softest disturbance at the surface

                                Scorching Destruction

Blasting outwards with the force of 100,000 Nuclear Bombs.

Tears,

. Anger,

. Dust,

  . Stone

Billowing upward and blocking out the sun.

Spreading over everything I am

The heavy smoke and ash trapping toxic fumes.

The ash itself – heavy, toxic. Unbreathable.

Weighing down on the roofs of my creation

Until

                                They

                                                                Collapse.

And as they fall, it triggers a collapse in me.

It all comes rushing back and rushing out,

Like a pyroclastic flow           -

Lethal

   Manic

                                  Incinerating

                          Unstoppable

Leaving no choice now but to wait,

As the volcanic matter entombs me

Burning away everything.

Leaving behind lava, ash and stone.

Slowly it cools.

Solidifies.

       Breaks Down.

Leaving behind a rich, fertile soil.

Preparing me, for growth.