what am i
without this
anxiety?
seventy percent
water and
thirty percent
nonsensical
meanderings.
deficiencies
where happiness
should sprout
unfettered.

how abysmal is
this patiently
waiting to die.
viewing chaos
in the calm
eye of the self
perpetuated storm.
curt clipped
responses to
existential defeat.
a callous callus
on the withered
heart of hope.

a twilight nap
in a field full of
bashful wildflowers.
each star twinkles
for a moment of
gleeful attention.
seventy percent
water and
thirty percent
hyperbolic desire.
a living bolt of
neurotic lightning
pinballing through
broken receptors.
unbroken in the
moon’s penumbra of
inverted dreamspasm.