A heavy mess you can’t vomit out.
A tight knot in your stomach that limits the entire storm starting from the hollow, constricting feeling in your chest, into this one body. And just inside, so only you can know its intensity and nobody else. Of course we can have universes inside us, sometimes it’s just a black hole.
Why is the air here not enough?
You created art and destroyed it just as soon, thinking, “Now it makes sense.” But what makes sense? — you won’t even ask that twice. (Hidden)
Randomly Abstract 
Many claim this “black hole” is the desire for the Divine inside each one of us; differing only in intensity, remaining the same in essence. Perhaps as long as it’s driving us to the Divine, the suffering is meaningful in itself. The moment it chains us, well, there is a need to revitalize.
Loved your graphic description of the intangible.