anxiously

breathe...

stomach tightening into knots,

something in the windows, or

something is not where it's

supposed to be. disarray. panic.

a stranger. the walls are moving.

shifting, like an A.I. generated image,

I cannot trust my eyes. I cannot trust

my ears. I cannot trust my fingertips,

all six and a half of them. wait. not

right. I cannot trust my brain, my body.

I cannot trust you.

b r e a t h e . . .

everything feels slower now. in a

fast way. slow and fast. all at once.

my breathing is slow. fingers clenched

tight. I cannot afford to let go. of myself.

I cannot stop. writing. thinking.

breathing.

was that always here? the hole in the

wall? or did someone drill a hole,

trepanation, planted a camera, a nail

to hang a picture frame to cover

their eyes. watching. I am being watched.

b r e a t h e . . .

I am stretched thin trying to remember

who I am and where I left the keys. check

the pocket. the car. under the bed. the other

pocket. hiding places are everywhere. I cannot

let it swallow me.

i don't have time to check today. running

late. don't look back, or i'll be. trapped here.

i don't have time to cross my t's or capitalize

my i's. is there even an I left or is it only i. do i

have a proper noun or only this false semblance,

meant to be an adjective. i describe you. i am u.

b r e a t h e . . .

too long. too loud. too much. too many. not

enough. make up your mind. paint it until

it starts looking like all the other brains,

pink and grey and white and wrinkled flesh,

dopamine and serotonin and chemicals that

make me feel something. make me feel something.

my face is painted to look angry. sad. happy.

i didn't check today. i didn't capitalize my i. or

cross my t. now i am stomach tightening, breathe

fast and slow and nonexistent. heartbeat the same.

now i am cold. dark. sightless and soundless. everything

and nothing and something, once upon a time.

but no longer. now i'm