there is a
whimsical brass
toad smoking a
pipe while reading
outside of the
leasing office
as gray cloud rush
northernly toward
what i can only
imagine is trouble.

i find myself
unable to muster
a miniscule amount
of anything except
an abridged apathy
as i sit waiting.

the world is still
a shit show and the
uncertainty taints
every aspect of life
my bipolar is pulling
double duty as anxiety
screams constantly
through every single
labored breath and
agonizing step.

everything
all the effort
literal blood
sweat and tears
mean nothing
as the future
inexorably moves
to the present
nothing changes
but the expiration
date growing closer.

if i died today
would the collective
anxiety know peace
or just transfer
to the next slob
in line for this hell?