When I scrape away the crust of anxiety
Beneath it is simply the feeling
That I should be doing something different
From what I am doing.
From the pressing sensation in my chest,
To the buzzing feeling around my brain,
My whole body is electrified
With the terror that time is running out.
Whether I am scrubbing away in the kitchen
Or finally writing a project dreamed long ago
A voice inside intrudes and chants:
"Something else, something else, something else..."
And in those moments, I am somewhere else.
Split. Divided. Caught between the life I am living
And the innumerable alternate realities
That scream for their right to existence.
As I follow those swirling thoughts,
I unravel the fabric of my own being.
I flicker and fade, becoming so disembodied
I can almost imagine light passing through me.
Caught between the cracks of dishes and dreams
I cut myself on the sharp edge of 'now'.
The promise of 'something else' is the life of a ghost.
What if this is enough?
Photo by Renzo D’souza on Unsplash