Sense of Dread
There is a grinding in the back of my head.
And stinging that makes me restless.
There are implications swirling rapidly.
Rumors that are thawing.
It’s all so whimsical.
And cannot be prevented, anyway.
Standing up makes me dizzy.
As does opening my eyes.
Maybe I’ll sit back down.
Sitting next to this sense of dread that whispers to me.
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