Hiding under
everyone's
emotional lid
is a volcanic
substance
measured not
by individual
search for
meaning...
but by the
hours, or minutes
during which
the lid inevitably
explodes...
thereby creating
the lava flow
towards
certain self-
destructive behavior.
In other words:
When you hear the low-down rumble
When you see the fingers tremble
Skin color changing to deep purple
That's the time to get a grip.
Count to ten, then count to twenty
Slowly breath, the stakes are many
Every body's got aches a-plenty
So if you must, just let one rip!
Let off the steam
Let your belly scream
Then just go out
for some cold ice cream!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem