A Hidden Place

It seems that I usually have a solution to the so-called mental conundrums that plague us, post-pregnancy, mentally-ill or not... little band-aids...ounces of positivity, hope. Today is different. I cannot go back to that without shedding the skin of the rotten onion lodged in my throat. It is spotted, moldy and sprouting invasive leeks. They are slowly choking my heart, attaching to my arms...hands...synapses... everything is misfiring, and all I feel is seething anger. All I taste is angst. The moldy skin chokes me... and the viscous words sit. Love is inherent, but it won't surface. It cannot. It is stuck, and I am numb, trapped in my own mind, unable to find a shaft of sunlight in this rancid place.