Foreboding

Describes the sense of dread

In my stomach
A dull ache, barely detectable
Only with much concentration
Through minutes, smiling, laughing, unaware
Then gradually realizing it’s there
That little pebble
Cementing itself into a tough rock
And still growing
From pebble to rock to bolder
Eventually, I realize its dominating my torso
Appetite seems to have deserted me
I grimace
Light little pebble has now become a mountainous lump
Remaining in my lower torso, but stretching roots
Reaching into my thighs, up into my head
I shiver
Attempting in vain to swallow those uncomfortable branches
Futilely almost forgetting that sense of foreboding
That dastardly terror
Yet it nuzzles in
And remains
And that foreboding is satisfied.