... like obscure fuzz is surrounding my body
its the channel on the TV
that is black and white static
with the sound of no sound
taking away my ability
to hear the cheery banter
of the normal, tranquil people
who must be here
somewhere around me.

The ever buzzing fuzzing
static anxiety takes away
my ability to see
the people and things  
that used to make me smile.  

And I can't hear myself think
Over the sound my heart
beating intensely in an attempt
to get the hell out of me  

Out of this corpse inside
the obscure buzzing fuzzy
static electri-city  
that shares a name with me.

This hostile prison
I live in. The bars made
of the absolute worst
possibilities encapsulating me

The bars of fear and the
fuzzy buzzing static
stealing my time and tearing
the breath from my lungs


It's called anxiety.

I feel sick inside when
I'm all of myself at once and
The beats fall out of touch and
My rhythm fades to dust

I think you're lovely but
Neither of us are good with groups
And it's during times like these that
I wish I could just up and flee

There’s too much air to breathe here.
A swirling mass of emptiness heaves through the crowd’s lungs.
Stop.
Won’t everyone just *******--

Someone sings at the bus stop just outside my window.
Wires hum, ignoring the melody that person has so carefully constructed.
A hiss.
Rising steam.
An abrupt end.

Another listless night.
A beetle flies in through my open window.
It takes me twenty minutes to help it back out.

I think about wandering the forest.
But am too scared to confront loneliness, and the frailty of human existence.

There is a gap forming already.
Here.
A dialectic that seeks to sublate my very identity.
Subsume those closest to me.
Until I am completely alone.

There is a bush down the street which is in bloom right now.
I think the sun is too hot.
The flowers are wilted.
And the pavement is littered with dead bees.

Voices.
An exchange.
A language game.
Two horizons meet, merge, melt.
‘Wait--’
The horizons drop.
If only for a moment.
And the abyss is revealed.

The only universal in this world is that we are all alone.
Trapped in our own understanding.
Forever interpreting one another.

I am waiting for the day the wind carries me out the window.
Perhaps it will never come.
Perhaps I will live a long boring life amongst friends, family, and all those people I despise.
Oh well.
No point, either way.