I try to hold it in.
I feel it rising again.
I look around, I swallow.
Contain this, I say to myself.
It may have been coming all day,
but you can stop it short.
You can.
But that's not true.
I know it's not.
It comes as it pleases,
and I am forever at it's mercy.
I lay my head down.
I try to accept it.
I pick up a pen,
and flip to the next page
in my only solace.
I write, and I realize,
it's ******* pointless.
**** it.