Volcanic
Volcanic.
Sporadic eruptions, ashes in your eyes.
The heat is seductive, it licks your flesh, it drags you in.
Volcanic.
From the inside,
an Armageddon,
but in fact it is
just another tragedy,
just another passing day.
You grab your limericks,
your quotes and rhymes,
your inspirational speeches and lullabies,
you cling on them as you are swallowed by Pompeii.
Bent over, clutching your chest,
frozen for the rest of time.
Evidence of your Armageddon,
but for everyone else it is just another passing day.
Volcanic.
Spurting out warm colors, welcoming colors.
Confident and bold colors.
Like it is the first eruption. The first murder. The first pollution
“Hi, I’m Volcano and I burn scars into the Earth. I destroy the existence of exotic species. I burn down forests and slay millions of living things.”
“Hi Volcano”
Like your recovery matters, like there aren’t other entities doing the same thing.
Like judgment day only happens once.