Volcano-ism

I am a victim of volcano-like mimics. I let the lava boil inside of me, without saying a word. Only, unlike the volcano I do not erupt conspicuously, I almost let myself purge unnoticed, vomiting heavy air on to my own lap. I spend sleepless nights due to piles of paper work, and extract my conclusions by the eggshell tinted window hedge. Sight seeing, the beautiful moon and stars are all that is required to allow the silenced verses of my stress skitter from my head, to place themselves in the black sheet of the sky where I will no longer see them, for the bright luminaries have me in a trance. At this moment, that little voice inside of my temples that bellows annoyance is completely mute, and all that exists is the quiet heart beat quarantined in my chest. You are exactly where you are supposed to be. And this I mean, quite literally. It doesn’t humour me to watch you slither in a transparent pool, lies filling it almost at flooding point, while your eyes believe impressive thick colors  swirl their mixtures past you.