A Non Up Lifting Poem

There's a black cork inside me,
That stops all I try to hold back
I'm tired of pushing my fingers
further and further
Into my middle
To keep that cork,
Firmly in place.
Let not one ounce, not one drop,
Out.
For if a flash flood were to occur,
Lies would have to be told,
Locations possible reestablished,
Something would have to be said,
With shifting eyes
To avoid the truth in them.
That black cork holds back air, in reality.
Because the liquid I held so long,
Has spilled through too small of cracks,
For me to see,
That now I'm a soaked, hollow, mess
Of the disaster I did not avoid.