Jan 1, 1999

Anxiety

Vaguely aware of peace,
my innards feel the need to invert themselves.
Jumping and swaying, knocking my knees,
this senseless fear forbids me to breathe.
Plenty to be worried about
None to be controlled
Even less that matters anyway
Just relax, and pretend you can.
Unaware of the urgency of anything,
how could I ever be cured?
Waking up to a friendly face, perhaps,
would only be cause for alarm
Not enough on the plate
Too much for one sitting
Far more than I've ever seen
Even though I'm blind.