Two Sides Collide
I'm prone to bleeding
for strangers,
the homeless guy
I had a smoke with
and talked to for an hour
at that stoplight
in Indianapolis,
the girl that walked up
and asked if I had a spare,
back at the hotel
the man evicted from
his house - he got a pack.
the drifter, I drove
for hours as he slept,
refusing money and food
out of guilt.
or the couple
starting out, pregnant,
with nothing, got a car
and a stove. or 20 bucks
to the grungy dude
with the sign.
but the rest, I tend to avoid,
not the wife and kids,
the others,
to them I'm cold.
maybe low on hope,
too many offerings
to those close that meant nothing,
like it was owed.
I tend to isolate
within safety where I
can bleed for the broken
without fear of betrayal.
the way I treat people,
a strength and weakness.
if they ever collide,
I'd be more normal,
maybe better,
but less content.
Anxiety
Sometimes the acoustics
In my room
Throw shade
And I can hear traffic
Running through my brain
Surround sound tires
Screech through my open window
And the train plays a steady beat
Against my cerebral cortex
Nights like this
I wonder if it's paranoia
Or nerves laced
Tight by migraines
That have me listening
To every sound in stereo
It used to be fear
Terrifying panic
The beating of my heart
Matched the high thunk
Of railroad ties
The empty fast clang
Of iron wheels
And empty box cars
Sometimes sleep
Would wait for me
At sunrise
And I could never explain
Why I was afraid
Except that my darkness
Has always been
A darker thing of unknowns
Than anyone could explain
I remember the silence
Is like waiting
For a belt to fall
Anxiety and panic
Are apathetic mistresses
They don't care at all
How logical I am
They'll chant their missives
Till sweat sputters
Between clenched fingers
And the sound of
My own breathing
Concerns me
Has me wondering if
I'll need oxygen before
The night is through
And the tapping of my heart
Becomes my own
Dance with red shoes
And I cannot stop
Beating against the
Pavement of my thoughts
Until dawn and the sun
convince me
I'm safe again
A Dorman