I stand in your queue
but my legs give out.
I land, instead, on my knees.

A tempest or a lullaby –
a fierce roulette
of which I am the quarry.
I creep across the minefield
and receive my consequence.

This waiting room
its blinding lights
intensify my thoughts.
Time has nearly stopped;
your face hangs crooked
on every wall.

My skin
it weighs me to the ground
heavy with anticipation.
Hysteria hovers idly in my mind
finally settling
and I succumb to infinite madness
where I will wait no longer.

I place my doubts even in the hat that proves your existence;
the sun burns out and people change
there is no space for me.