the clock ticks on
has it beat sixty times yet?
like a bass line to my anxious melody,
a rhythm for my thoughts to
keep in time with

slouched with something
half-finished in my hand,
i do without comprehending,
worries crowning as i smile
and wave at someone walking past–
it’s nice out today, isn’t it?
–all the meanwhile dreaming up
nightmares where people see me
and turn the other way, where they block
my number and ignore my texts
my pleads for help embedded in the
you’re not mad, right?
in the
sorry for bothering you
in the
lol, yeah, i’m fine

tick, tock
how many more hours
until you want to leave me?