My Fear is afraid:

of Alarm Clocks because the numbers one through nine are formed with the same dashed panels, burning the fluorescent, merciless truth into stubborn retinas.


of Sleep, of citrus-induced nightmares; he drinks midnight fruit juice to increase productivity and panic attacks.


of losing himself like keys, of becoming the wrong pattern of sharp like keys, of finding himself wedged in the doorknob like keys.


of the Lexapro we take, a piss-stained, dull floral mattress that barely manages to half-muffle his screams.


of the medicine working, of the medicine not working, of the medicine.


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