words brew in a *** under my skin,
warming, churning, boiling.
Sitting in a chair without wheels,
no ability to roll across the room.

Is it a force of habit that makes you complacent?
Is it fear that keeps you from change?

What is stopping you from changing.
From moving, when plates are shifting under your feet.

Every person in the audience is telling you to move,
to save yourself,
and yet the words continue to bubble.

The *** is only left with steam.