Angxious

All but pitch, the bathroom has natural light
cascading like the most half-hearted trickle of piss.
The kind with as much pressure as an ant crawling
across unaware skin, in through the window over the shower.

The pounding is in my head,
like the heartbeats of Jim and David’s little China Girl, “loud as thunder.”
The digital green flash of AM 12:00,
AM 12:00,
AM 12:00,
AM 12:00,
the steady Indiglo metronome compliments and mirrors my conflict internal.

It, the woe, comes in flashes, the woe.
It screams don’t marry him.
It screams I am destitute.
It screams give up.
It screams let me put it in there.
It screams my kingdom for a cheeseburger.

With a hackneyed grip of either side of the bathroom sink,

I pray for sleep and calm.
I pray for solace and understanding.
I pray for closure.
I pray to the big fat unknown standing in the nudity of eternal darkness.
I pray for answers.
I pray
“just to make it today.”