uncontrollable.

Half of my day is spent worrying,
a creep through my ribs into my chest
each time I hear a cough
worried it might not be stoppable,
each time I can’t hear a wheeze at night
worried maybe the breathing has stopped altogether.

Worry forces my eyes to snap open
with the slightest bump.

Worry should just be a person
perched heavily on my shoulder
taunting me with scenarios of the scary.

Worry might be a companion,
annoying and depressing at best,
definitely not a friend.

And there he goes again.

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