The Killing Wait

 

I remember why I detest waiting.

The nervous glances, awkwardness,

all-around confusion.

I want to run.

 

Instinct and logic battle in my head,

neither gaining nor giving ground.

It makes my suffering cranium ache…

Why do I want this?

 

And why must you wait?

She IS illness. She won’t be fixed

until her being broken stops benefiting her.

She’s got you where she wants you.

 

So here I’ll sit and wait, like a fool.

The worst kind of fool for my affliction

is self-accomplished. She should

leave you be, leave you

to me.

 

Idiocy.  And sorrow.

For me, they live hand in hand.