My Life With Volcanos

I was born in a volcanic zone.  It was a reality and an analogy as well.  About an hour ago the volcano I live with went off.  It is not just a slam to one's sense of self, but this Wiccan slam leaves my stomach hurting as well.  Her evil is always there, bubbling.  Saying no to anything she gives can set her off, but then the volcano expects the sacrifice of a virgin every day after that.  There are never consequences for this bitter atoll.  I just go away and lock myself on another island.  My plans for the day get shifted, and fear shakes my core.  I now sit on the mainland, writing a note to my troops who seem to be in Persia or Asia.  Shrapnel hangs out of my wound, and my writing hand is shaking.  I pray that they can reach me before she, and those like her, kill me outright.  It is not allowed, in any space, to speak about these things or I am labeled the maker of lava myself.  I learned to walk away the moment I was born.  Now I exist singing a siren song for a crew of soldiers who will come and take me away.  I will leave everything behind and go with you.  My legal rights were thrown in the sea over ten years ago in an outright way.  People will squawk and talk as if they know what really happened in different zones of influence, but they do not know.  All I know is that I have survived, and my private research is going well.  I will not name it here, but it is the birth of the end of mental and physical illness on the planet for those who can band together and work in an angelic way.  I gave it to an agency yesterday to find professional persons to test.  These will be primarily men who are primarily foreign and some know me and some do not.  That volcano will then be frozen in time around me and will rise where purposefully Wiccan insane people choose to live, procreate, and openly do mystical evil.