I am filled with the white noise

Of anxiety—a silver car
Slashing through the night,

Headlights flickering.

I did not see it hit me.

Nor did I feel when it left.
did it ever really leave?

The humming of its engine
Is ever present in my heart
And in my head.

Am I on the side of the road,
Or am I lying comfortably
In a cushioned chaise?


It makes no difference.

The environment does not
Alter the metal sponge
Chafing my thoughts,
Trying to clean them,
Brutal and rough,

I am filled with so much—

Why can’t I seem to choose
What my heart consists of?