ManicWorld Magazine

i am an ouroboros of self-immolating doubt.
every minor obstacle in my life feels like
an assailant
and every interaction I have must be blown up
under a microscope for immediate scrutinization —
sandwich my mistakes between thick wedges of glass.
if there’s one thing I’ve learned from science class
it’s that there is no escape
when heavy fluorescents strip the shadow away
from every crevice and contour.
i am a wreck because of what happened in math class.
i am a wreck over things that don’t matter, and
i know my future self
will come to this realization later. i know
that whatever I’m worried about now will be nothing
more than an inconspicuous blip six months down the line.
i take solace in this fact, purely out of necessity.
because at this moment i still
must live with the snot-dripping glassy-eyed version of me.
a terrible roommate, runny like human applesauce,
all mushy and mawkish
and meant to be swallowed without chewing.
i sniffle, buckle, waffle, whimper, sob and shout, then scream and cry
but tomorrow i may not do any of those things,
and instead i may be asking myself:
“what was the big deal in the first place?”