I Know They're Wrong, but That Doesn't Mean They're Not Right

I am a volcano.

I can build lots of pretty things on my surface, and they may take root and become part of me, but some days I still feel [within my bottomless heart] the rumble of an unstoppable, explosive rage. It takes no form, flowing aimless and troubled beneath my cities and parks and theatres; only the animals and the medicine men are kept anxious.

I have some things coming to me, which have been a long time in coming:
work,
school,
and Vicci.

All in the next few weeks. Normally at such a time, my nerves would be ringing--a split second before my body hits the cold surface of a spring-fed lake on a summer morning at dawn. But this really has been a long time in coming. Right now my nerves are on fire--when I'm at the bitter end of breath, still fighting upwards through the distance, blackness bursting under my eyelids. So close, almost there ... I can't bear it!

I don't know if I'll be posting much in the coming months, folks. This laptop is heaving a long death-rattle, and my dad has decided that I don't need a computer at college. Not that this is a big sudden change out of the ordinary; I haven't been posting much of anything lately anyways ... but who knows? Maybe I'll find time to give updates on my well-being from time to time from a lab PC.