Worrytrain
Fog Dance, My Moth Kingdom

I am here: nails dug into the couch, soul in apnea asleep on the diaphragm.

Is it over? Is it over?? Is it over damn it, is it over?
Damn it, it's over; now I'll get up. Yes, now I'll get up, here, just one more second and I'll get up. One last deep breath and I'll get up, come on. No, no damn it, no; the back doesn't stretch, the hands stay anchored.
Turn your head, slowly though; check. Is everything like it was before? Check, damn it, check. Look! Behind the couch! Behind the damn couch! Behind the couch! Do you see it? Come on, it was there before, you saw it, check, check again.
Nothing.

Is everything like it was before then?? Yes, I think so damn it. Why can't I get up? Be quiet, don't talk to yourself, breathe and check outside the window, is everything okay? Yes, yes it's all okay, yes, at least it seems so. Damn it, does it seem so or is it? Damn it, you’re not moving, things shouldn’t seem to you, they should be! Check. Yes, all the same. Same streetlights same houses same parked cars it's all like before. Another breath; raise your eyes. Is everything there like before too? Yes, all the same. The ceiling is still there, with its chandelier whipping light against the walls. Everything like before damn it, everything like before. Like before industrial and contemporary started swinging on the electronic amusement park ride, before the mandolins started messing with the dark ambient, before Joshua Neil Geissler decided to spew noise onto cellos, yes of course, it's all like before damn it; all like before... Breathe damn it, breathe! Don't give up, you can do it, breathe deeply, come on. Come on, you're there, you did it, you're there damn it. You're there... You did it...

No, I didn't do it, I stay here, nails dug into the couch, soul in apnea asleep on the diaphragm.