5-4-3-2-1

 

I see:
  a stack of boxes of unwanted responsibility
  a calm, new-moss green wall
  artwork from a child now grown
  a disarray of important papers
  a thirsty spider plant
I hear:
  a ringing whine that is mine alone
  the faint sound of Metallica
  a bathroom fan
  the scratch of my pen on paper
I feel:
  a cozy armchair hugging my body
  a hamstring that’s begging for stretching
  the tickle of anxiety deep in my core
I smell:
  burnt crumbs in the toaster
  the early morning sweat of my own warm body
I taste:
  a little too much soy milk in my coffee

I am grounded
firmly
within this murky pit
where nothing comes without emotion attached
and the thoughts never cease
their tumbling.


.