Stuck in my throat, the gastric juices force their way into my upper palate. Tepid tap water from a heavy crystal goblet seems to taste better than just tap water. The mediocre temperature will swish down the troublesome hydrochloric acid until I start thinking again. The surge is unpredictable.
How can one control the thought process? One recalcitrant consideration, a simple idea veering towards my emotional self, and the esophageal burn forces itself upward. The body betrays my privacy.
There is no lock that can contain my feelings. They erupt outward, protruding out of my skin, and now they drive digestion into a confused process. I digest food and ideas in the same organ. I simplify the break down of transcendental concepts into a metabolic regurgitation. How absurd.
Yet, my heart burns.
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