I am afraid. I know I’m supposed to pretend I’m not
but I’m terrified.
I want to rush out in desperation, reeking and determined;
shove you behind me while I tear the world apart
until some poor schmuck in a wrinkled lab coat who
doesn’t understand the gravity of this
clutches at my sleeve,
to tell me they’ve found it and it’s all going to be okay.

I make myself forget.
Then sometimes I hear a phrase or see a word
and I remember,

and I’m angry. I am filled with it. I want to destroy someone good,
rip children from mothers, sabotage, and crumble
and claw up the things in this world
that are right,
because this is not right and
I have no remorse that my rage could fill someone else’s
life with dread and pain.
(that should scare me, but it doesn’t)
I am bloodthirsty and selfish and you deserve better
than a lottery that says your light could get smothered
under a thickness of receding grey matter and nuclear inclusion.