I can never explain the pit in my stomach
Frantic, nervous pacing through the house
If we act like things are not spiraling out of hand
Does that make them so?
If a thought goes unspoken, does that erase it?
The unbrushed belief when my friend died
Decades later, that subconscious echoes carried him through me
But it never rears its head when it can be reasoned with
The world ends on a quiet weekend
Not through diagnoses, emergencies, collapses
Although I hate thinking that memories bend