A flash of lightning

The surface tension breaks easily here,

Not by anything profound or interesting,

But by a full bladder.

And when I wake up to pee,

Pulled through layers of sub-conscience and memory,

And dumped into a dark bedroom and damp sheets,

I am anxious.

It feels like a choppy whirlpool sits,

Just below the surface of my skin.

It’s dark all over, but every now and again,

Lightning flashes, and I see a scene in the rushing water.

It’s a moment in time, a quick embarrassment,

Watching myself get entangled in a lie.

Another flash of lightning,

This one is brighter, angrier.

It’s heat makes me bristle as it shows me another scene:

A work conflict turned ugly.

There are no tears, only angular turning points

Forever changing my internal monologue.

The sounds of disembodied thoughts swell up

Like hornets speeding toward me

It’s not real—in my bedroom, I am still and safe,

But in my mind, the hornets approach, now transformed into voices.

Now lightning is flashing so violently my heart is racing rom fear.

And more memories alight in the whirlpool.

I can’t look away.

Because my mind is drawn the carnal waste of my own anxieties,

Feeding it the attention it seeks

In my half-awake state.

But now, I’m fully awake and my body is hot.

I peel away the sheets.

Answer a few texts,

Turn on the TV,

And pray for the sweet release of sleep

To dislodge me from the whirlpool whose gravity pulls and tugs at me,

From way in the depths of my sub-conscious mind.