The morning alarm sounds like a siren
and strikes at my head
as the minutes and hours rush in.
The seconds are tentacles
that weave around my ankles
to pull me out of bed and shake me
until loose words, calm and patience
clatter to the ground.
Some days, time is the roommate from hell
throws parties in my head
until my tongue swells in doubt
and hands reach for stability, but time
brought Calamity and Anxiety to the party.
Anxiety eyes me every day
and now grabs at my fumbling fingers
until I am all rollercoasters and merry-go-arounds
in the amusement park of its smile.
I am nervous with its confidence
and I know Calamity pockets hope while it waits
for trouble to ring the doorbell.
Time is the worse person
when you have a voicemail box full
with collection calls, and emails featuring rejection.
It reminds you only have it,
and it can have every moment of the day.
I tell Time it is a gravedigger, and it digs me out of calmness
and lays me six feet in angst, and fear.
Time reminds me it will bury me will all my sweet Anxiety,
and Calamity will be there to steal the flowers off my grave.
Poetic Trials 