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The Feeling

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shaken up by the screaming paranoia
that attacks when I can feel
those eyes looking into me

I gasp and struggle
to gain a satisfying breath,
but only inhale the forgotten smog of yesterday,
my lungs must be midnight-black,
one touch and the pleural charcoal
will flake away

a thousand voices reach my ears,
and none of them are lyrical,
all demanding, all uncaring,
I beg them to leave,
but when they do
I am a vacuum sealed
in a barrier of silence

the feeling is a skittering ant,
mercilessly crushed
beneath the heavy work boot of disregard,
twitch-twitch-twitching
until it gives up and dies





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