The gnawing at my ears,
this doubt, a pound on my shoulders,
making each step like the first,
a man crawling to others.
And I find it grows,
care becomes paralysis,
becomes frozen voice,
becomes regret before its even over.
But I imagine I’ll find something,
anything, like prey lurking in the corners,
make music out of its grunts,
make weapons out of its bones.