There’s a certain kind of turmoil that only jealousy can bring.
The initial sting a pinprick needle sharpness; a bumblebee’s venom pickling through the skin.
A sharp cold and colliding heat. A vague sickness that grows to a turbulent storm.
The blazing heat of betrayal. The cold darkness of loneliness.
The hairs that stand on end in disgust; soldiers protesting against the violence of the crumbling inside.
The sweet nothingness. Empty.