It piles and roles and twist and turns. How can something so internal be so palpable? The energy almost visible, your anger crashing like waves against all my defenses. The anxiety in the pit of my stomach, my racing heart, the beads of sweat destroying the careful face I have painted all shouting, are my walls high enough? Thick enough? Practiced enough?
I used to wear the ash of your eruption like armor. But now it weighs heavy on my skin, corrodes my soul like acid.