This keyboard knows my name.
Hushed, pregnant with expectation.
The room oscillates—
a victim to the tension shrieking
its way through my shoulders,
my spine,
my trembling fingers.
Fists of unknown gargoyles
kneed their way into the lining
of my stomach.
Lack of oxygen. Bleeding cuticles.
Layer upon layer:
anxious mutterings
and clacking of keys,
all pouring themselves
down
my tightening throat.
Lurking in the corridors of my clouded mind.
To what end? To what beginning?
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