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I first noticed the bubbles in your words
several months ago, when you were
experiencing your first bout of existential angst
like a childhood virus that, left inexperienced for so long,
made up for lost time by worming straight to the core.

You spoke in code, speech erratic with popping words
scorching with some internal heat that stewed
in the back of your throat, baking shadows into your eyes.
Left alone, you seethed at the edges, blackening your brain
with dark ideas and convoluted thoughts that made sense
on the surface, but really just added fuel to the flame
with imponderable questions and answers that didn’t
actually answer anything at all.

I am wracked with worry for you, but those mental
incendiaries are too flammable for my unskilled firefighting.
I have taken to watching you carefully, because
although it is far too late to stop you from bubbling,
perhaps I can prevent you from boiling over.