Anxiety

There are triangular shards of reality
Which fall across my aperture
Cut me like glass thrown by
A laughing dwarf into the fire in his night
Of debauchery
Dig for my blood
The treasure of what
Is real
Or they slice, gently and brutally like a dissected onion
Cut thin for the microscope
Exposing layer after layer
Fear is only
Hungover anticipation
It hurts
Never
Argosy forward, moving
Anathema
Pink holy water

And the pills--
The creative baby of my mind
Lovely new born fetus
Lulled to sleep
Into a anesthetized bliss of heavenly sterile dreams.