It wasn’t that I missed them.
It wasn’t that I wanted them to
cluster my mind like an angry
swarm of bees dive bombs their
Saying I missed them would be
like saying you missed the oxygen
you’re required to breathe, or
missing the needle in your arm
that soothed the shaking.
You don’t miss them,
you need them.
You try to brush and contain
and cover and keep them down
and away and distant from yourself.
But just like old you and young you are the
same you, so are they, so are those
They cling to you like a lost
passenger clings to the slabs of a broken ship,
while they simultaneously lurk under
you like blood-driven sharks
prowl beneath the black, choppy water.
And all you want is for them to stop.
So you scream and beg and pray for
them to subside, but no matter how
many times you try to slam the door
and lock them out, they always
seep under the cracks, closing in
around you until they fill every escape.