what am I supposed to do?
I’m high on ativan
but that’s a secret
and it’s not the kind of person
I am anyway;
I promise, sometimes in life, there are acceptable exceptions --
a big fat scary monster has swallowed me up
whole
and I feel like Pinocchio
in the musky dark,
in the stomach of terror;

did you know
I bought 3 books today,
they’re classics
and were on sale,
"how perfect," I thought, "something to read on the plane; something to read over and over again for a whole year abroad."
but my suitcase is empty
apart from the three paperbacks,
intimidating me
and I’d honestly rather die and never hear anyone talk ever again than pack for a whole year

this is a poem of fear
but that’s a secret, though I’m sure
the consumed ativan
clearly gave that away;
— I’m moving
to the complete opposite end of
the world —