Misery





I think that’s what it is

The bullets in my head




The letters that are not words


The words that are not thoughts








The silent screams
The debilitating cyclone



A six-letter word to describe the way I feel

Ammunition


Missiles and bombs




Grenades, mines
And nuclear weapons
Stock piled in my head
Ready to explode







On the count of three...



They blow
But after the smoke clears


It is still here
Anxiety


I guess that’s what it’s called




Acidic, lethal, throbbing

Eating me from the inside



But visible on the outside








Always there





When I go to sleep




Every time I stop


Even when I am going







Constant




Anxiety







A railroad through my head



Nonstop to nowhere

With no plans to cease