The Floor Is Always Lava

The floor is always lava.  My feet are always burning. No one ever knows what’s happening. No one else feels the heated floor, the measured melting steps I have to take.

I’m going to tell of what that’s like, but not today.  Today I have no choice but to keep it to myself because to explain it I’d have to open up and let the flames out of my lungs to which they’ve risen — up my legs the fire goes and there is a burning within.

It’s clear to me that some people like to read about the burning. It’s clear to me that I’m their choice to feed them the fire. It’s clear to me that they think my fire can counter theirs. It’s clear to me they are wrong.

The floor beneath me is always lava, and with that awareness as public knowledge now, I will keep my mouth as closed as I can until I can no more.