the inevitable

*three

it isn't a white knuckle, teeth gritting feeling. Nor is it a genuine smile and an exhale feeling. It's a wave of suppression.
Of what can't be expressed.
a hand over mouths
a strain in the grip
It starts at the neck
down the spine
skipping to the toes
traces the jaw
rising lastly the eyes.
Irritable, predictable tears.
An overused joke.
A book with the last page already read.
Why is it the swirls of emotion so overbearing,
only contemplation lingers?
A muttering of exaggeration.
A shrug and an ocean of assumptions.
Through my mind, through their words.
In the most unnecessary circumstance.
In the most peculiar fall;
how the temporary foundations
bear their weaknesses.
As if they were there all along.