Right now, my mind...
Is the proverbial popcorn machine.

Every little thing that bothers me is
likened to a kernel.
And to make popcorn, you need lots...
Bucketloads of kernels.

Dump them all in the machine.
Let them whirl.
They sit layered on top of each other
undisturbed,
on the hot bed until...
The spindly metal arms begin to rotate...
Whose sole purpose is to agitate.

Buttered with debilitating insecurities.
Sprinkled with irrational fears.
Heated with erratic temperament.

And here come the arms again.
Rotating,
churning,
inciting.

No one knows when the kernels
are going to cave and rupture.

Then...
"Pop!" would go one.
Then another...
And another...
Soon they would all start to explode.
When that happens,
I do too.

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Addendum
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I love popcorn.
And I don't like to share.