Angst:

Angst cannot be tamed at the hands of a worrier

But celebrated, and even cultivated into grandeur

Chaos. Keeping heads tied in knots as hands grow

Dangerous. Touching and scratching that profoundly

Electrifies every waking molecule vibrating in your

Frigid capsule. Only to be reminded of your hidden,

Inner corpse. The one that desiccates waiting on a

Jaded soul to patch up the wounds left behind by her

Killer. Sparing no effort to repair the bones made of

Limestone. Racing to relocate the lost cartilage in your

Mandible. Punched away by the agony and the

Morbidity that is promised the second your breath

Nestles the soft neck of your loving mother; whom

Often you forget about while running in circles trying to

Prove your right to breathe, to live, to love, to ask the

Questions that burn through the back of your skull

Reaching for answers no soul has dared to discover.

Say anything to soothe the anger, the dread.

The tension that builds inside that begs to be

Uncovered. And when it does, it dissipates granting

Victory to the body who surrendered to it’s mighty

Weight. Imprinted in the tissue of your muscles, like that of a

Xylograph, are the scars and the evidence of the trauma

You endured to classify yourself as a fellow human being,

Zealous for a life with less lessons that chip away at your soul.