White knuckles as I
fall into the middle
of the thing I’m most scared of,
but I’m too scared
to tell you what that is.
I’m just a thing that I
should not have been,
a feature refusing to blend
into the backdrop of
infinite carelessness.
Maybe I don’t care
about the jitters or
those little critters that
laugh at my despair,
but I don’t mean to rhyme.
I forgot what it feels like
to float in nothing,
to hope that maybe something
so fraught with panic
could be organic after all.
