Sit and simmer,
Worry and wait,
Stationary punishment
My mind does create.
Darkness folds her cold hands around my throat.
An icy cold river, rushing fast, no boat.
My heart flutters like a bird in a cage that’s too small.
And lost in a room, where the ceilings are too tall.
Just an egg in a pan, a piece of burnt toast.
It’s those moments of quiet silence that I hate the most.
Every thought, every memory, floats to the top like oil,
And mixed all together, my blood starts to boil.
I can’t sit and simmer! I must not be still
Or else I must drown as my brain fills.
Perhaps it’s my mind, my thoughts I can’t face,
Or maybe it’s the world that’s a terrifying place.
