The constant droning of the fan
Pushes hot, stale air across my face
Rustles my hair, unwanted.
I breathe through my nose,
Hear my own intake of life
And let it go,
Trying to push out
The Bad, The Doubt, The Worry
That are sitting in my lungs.
They are seeping into my stomach,
Like a poison
Like a knot
Like a fist.
Anxiety gnaws at my conscious
Making sleep always elusive
And distant.
What if I am wrong?
What if I don't find what I'm seeking?
What if It stays the same?
It's always a step in front
Out of reach
Retracting
And leading me away -
It's way -
Ma way?
