It’s all in my head,
this anxiety about things
that have yet to happen.
I’m wound so tight
about it all.
Nothing has happened,
yet.
And that’s making me
itch and twitch.
The possibilities of
horror and tragedy
spill over into my
waking thoughts like
water over the levee and
makes me nervous.
It’s the anticipation of
something dreadful to
come that keeps me
from enjoying the
present.
“By the pricking of
my thumbs,
something wicked this
way comes”.
I’m frozen. I’m
petrified. I’m afraid.
of things that haven’t
happened, or might happen
or probably won’t happen
at all.
The future is a beast,
ready to tear me limb from
limb and feast on my marrow,
and make worm’s meat of me.
Maybe I’ll stay inside today.
Maybe I need a long, sustained
cuddle with a pretty woman.
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