Don't Be So Complete

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I received a phone call about a meeting that is to take place on Tuesday. I'm worried about it. Of course my over active imagination is not helping at all.


I turn with eyes closed and feel sheets slide over me
like rivulets of water made of cloth and silent whispers
which fills the void where things were meant to settle
My lips part and a sigh escapes, echoing as if mimicked
prayers were being chanted over moist tongues and teeth
I wish that I could close my eyes tighter against it all
or at least have my whispers answered, even by silent
lips and eyes that are not my own. For now I have sheets
They don't mind when I clench them in my fists during
nightmares, recent and often, or drench them in sweat
during anxiety filled fits of delusions and chases.
I push them away and steal them back again

over and over.


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