The Last Recluse

An Anxiety You Can't Name

12-1-21

The rain pumps blood
like proof of existence
and I've been overthinkin'
         too much
to enable resistance.
There are pauses in the cracks
of what we lack
that let us go down
the rabbit holes
         where we drown
and I keep clownin' around
the same old towns.
To live is to forget or
forget not to remember
steps and traces,
misplaces
         of thoughts or intents
like, are we there yet?
And the answer is always no
when you don't know
         where else to go.
You haven't slept enough
to figure it out
when dreams dehydrate you
and strength is a myth
         dictating you.
It burns you to the ground
you're too nervous to stand on
but the ceiling is forever;
for never, not
         the most clever.
All that's left is
a train of thought
leaving the station
before you even have the equation
to solve salvation
         this instant
and that's how you end up
with mysterious regrets
you can't run to or from.
This is what you are now,
the present precedence
         'til you're overcome.