I am not the things I obsess over:
Red face jaded gut
pushing scary narrative
which, in fact, surrounds us plenty,
never enough to the point of screech-
and I’m screeching still,
a torpor of horror
which sounds funnier than it is.
It’s hearing yourself repeated
but ever so twisted, bit by bit
until the result is the horrorgreen version
and you can’t tell the difference.
“You look tired.”
They’re not wrong.