It’s an oppressive black sky that looms overhead;
The heart-stopping stir of falling in dreams.
It’s vertigo’s creep just at the cliff’s edge;
And the white-knuckle angst of horror film scenes.
It’s dread of the dawn inside sleepless nights;
The pressure I feel at twenty feet deep.
It’s the smothering clasp of sinking in sand;
The insidious fear of a dark narrow street.
It’s the cold sweat of dusk in sinister woods;
The grim buzz of cicadas hidden in trees.
It’s the gnawing unease of the telephone ring;
And the panic of drifting far out to sea.
It’s the ulcerous pit that's deep in my gut;
The merciless weight of a tunnel’s dank heat.
It’s the nerves of an addict thirsting for smack;
It’s his seizure—I know—that is waiting for me ...
Waiting for me ... waiting for me.