You can't put your tableau on my tablet.

Surging into my abdomen.
A hint of bile in that next gulp.
Explain this condition with science, with kindness, with fortitude and wisdom.
Turning around to face it.
The almighty it.
It isn't a big deal. Not at all.
Is it?
Dumping the canister
I fuel the fire.
What's inside?
Confidence?
No.
Adoration?
No.
Faith?
Absolutely not.
Fear?
Most likely.
My face is ablaze with passion fighting to escape.
Cold seeping into my finger tips.
Moisture building in a clenched fist.
I taste salt on the tip of my tongue and brace for impact.
It takes hold and sends me whirling.
Relinquishing my basic motor functions
the wrenching reaches the climatic crescendo.
It releases me without a fight.
Foundation sufficiently shook
I'm still intact.