Terse

Bubbling but repressed

And burning the captor

Like an acid made from hurt

But it is a pressure made from stress

And the need to be released in some believable way

When turned down

Betrayed or disappointed

By every possible variable

But in the same way refused

In an impossible corner

Creating no solution

Other than time and impossible strength

Found only in seeing the pain of others

But still catching in the throat

At an impossible event

Perfect in the wrong ways

And creating an imaginary number

That only few can see