Swallowed

I am the seed of Fear,
she said,
darkly germinated by
shame,
the unknown,
consequence.

I grow.

I will smear and stain,
bleeding blue as I weep,
heaving deep silent bellows
which bulge with the weight of emerging ghosts,
and billow and roll with explosions of regret.

I inflate.

My voluptuous curves undulate,
surge as they summon and shape
chill wisps of thought into a swelling mass
to blind you,
muffle you,
smother you,
condense you,
cocoon you in a throbbing curlicue –
my inky signature, muted in mist.
I will eclipse you.

I dilate.

Swallowed

I am denser than air,
cloud, fog, smoke, or tainted veil
and will choke you with the opacity of despair.
My diaphanous shroud of delicate florets is laden, engulfing;
I cannot be shaken off.
I will bury you.

I bloat.

I sag
and drag you down.

Or can you burst free?