I feel the warden staring down at me. Is he staring at the furrowing of my pensive brow, smirking as my thoughts churn endlessly? Getting a kick out of these antsy lips, Laughing at the wretch with flighty focus? Laughing at the reddening in my eyes as a trembling, glossy veil surfaces? Iām done here. Leave me alone. I just want to Focus.
The warden sinks his long, icy fingernails into my collarbones . A winter frost crawls up my neck. His wicked tongue slithers into my ear and poisons my potential. My thoughts churn until they are on fire. I claw at my eyes, and see my Autonomy, encapsulated inside a foggy membrane.
The warden callously twirls the key to a world beyond my anxiety.