Jan 2014
My anxiety is the dream of a knife
almost a romantic fantasy of something physical that
could cause me the pain or discomfort that really
is just coming from my self
from some thought that I’ve swallowed or stumbled into or onto and now it’s mine
I cannot escape it.
Now it’s my burden and the choices are
to feast on it
or to ignore it until its white noise boiling on the backburner is all but a noose around my neck.
The laughable, socially acceptable third option is of course
the bottle of red or
the little white pill
from the purple bottle
exchanged from the pink slip
handed over by a worried lip.
almost a romantic fantasy of something physical that
could cause me the pain or discomfort that really
is just coming from my self
from some thought that I’ve swallowed or stumbled into or onto and now it’s mine
I cannot escape it.
Now it’s my burden and the choices are
to feast on it
or to ignore it until its white noise boiling on the backburner is all but a noose around my neck.
The laughable, socially acceptable third option is of course
the bottle of red or
the little white pill
from the purple bottle
exchanged from the pink slip
handed over by a worried lip.
I envy people who check their Gmail inboxes without wincing at the potential onslaught. I get more disappointing e mails from Sephora and the Container Store than I ever do from disappointed fellow humans, but I’m sure most of the disappointed fellow humans are just too polite to write.
