November 9, 2012
Despite what may on the surface show,
Underneath, is a heart–
firmly ensnared on barbs of grief and sorrow.
I am a lie.
Optimistic aloofness, detached candor—all just parts and lines
of a script on a stage where I out in the open hide.
Beneath this resilient facade is a fatal wound—
penetrating and deep.
Inflammatory response brought a flood of white hot rage filling in the gaping hole,
Then encapsulated the afflicted area with Kevlar intent—
no salvage required, only preventive isolation.
Though shielded in hi-tech, hard-core protective gear; on occasion a symptom appears—
A valve loosens
under constant pressure, a serous byproduct of the interaction between rage and injury, leaks…
But no fear—my responders are most vigilant–
Unwavering in their adherence to protocol, fully carrying out the ordered procedure.
Quarantine efforts have not been breached.
— at present.
(Though rumors fly– an impending pandemic event has an inevitable nature.)