Trickle

Even tears have to come out in their own way and time.

Red...
Hot...
Pulsating...
Bubbling...
To the surface.

As it gets to the top
Instead of 
Bursting 
Forth like a volcano.

Passionate
And
Fierce.

It comes like a tap
A faucet on a slow
Drip...
Blue....
Cool...
Trickling.

What feels like it should
Gush
Instead slowly
Drops.

Because you cannot force it
The wells choose 
When it’s time
When they will
Overflow
They are beholden to
No one.

Yet that sense
Of needing release
Constantly trickles...

Again
And
Again.