Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash

The Competitor

The heart starts,
Jumps,
Convulses.
It knows some unneeded portion of it is going to die.
And it is terrified.
And it is terrified
That I have found out it’s incapacity.
I need birth
And that is a kind of death,
A death of an old way for a newer.
The minutes tick by.
Perhaps I will not sleep
But I will kill that thing,
Whatever it is,
Tomorrow.
Sleep or no,
I will wake
And the figments of my imagination that hinder me will by dragged out in the darker reaches of my mind and done away with,
One by one,
Out of sight from the searching concerns embedded in incapacity.
And if the heart will still jump and start
Then so be it,
But it will be for real reasons,
Not imagined ones.
And I will find out which they are,
For certain,
Soon enough.