Anxiety is a Gnat

my dreams sit splattered on
the floor, weed gets lit
in my living room,
bodies lay piled like pillows and i wonder
if you’re sitting
splattered on your
floor
somewhere
smelling weed, thinking
of me, my dreams, spinning around
in mind traps —

a gnat comes into the bathroom
and with pants pulled down,
i swat the bug.
he flys
into the smoke
into the living room
between the bodies
swarming for sweat
the musty heat beckons
me and
him and
maybe he is not a he
and maybe you
never even thought
about these piles of
dreams we used to sit on,
while waving our hands
between the smoke,
it all seemed to bleed
one day into the next,
completing one thought
only to get lost into the next,
until the motivation
to begin one thought
evaporated or perhaps dribbled its way into the next
and all i’m left with
is a smokey room
and empty head
trying to think my
way back into
the befores,
before you left
before we sank into
silhouettes,
before i finished flushing
this toilet and running out the door
to catch that next moment —
before it collides with the past.

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