Hey, I’m a poet. I’ve been negligent in this matter for a long time on this blog.
Nerves grab onto the controls
Getting a rise out of ascending phobias
The constant visions of what might or could happen become Stygian
The more plausible the outcomes are
Hobbies and other activities I otherwise enjoy
Become tantamount to pacification
Against dark realities around me
I couldn’t just lie to myself each time
The past becomes a habit
I desperately want to halt
Was it a desire to change time
Or was it me wanting every ounce of control possible?