Let The Worriers Worry

Let the Worriers Worry

Let the worriers worry.

Let them pace holes into carpets,

counting hours like rosary beads

while their minds unravel in whispers.

Let them clutch their comforts,

rituals, routines,

tea gone cold, candles burned too low,

grasping for control,

in a world that never asked to be tamed.

I am not like them.

My demons don’t knock politely,

they carve runes into my ribs,

drink from the well of my spine,

and sing lullabies in screams.

They sleep with one eye open.

I sleep with none.

Who needs dreams

when your waking life

is the nightmare?

Let them tape up windows

against storms that might come.

Let them pray to silence

and call it peace.

Let them journal gratitude

while choking on fear.

I do not fear the dark.

I was born in its belly,

raised on the lull of sirens and static,

fed by the hands of things

too cruel to name aloud.

Let the worriers worry

over bills, over birthdays,

over cracks in the foundation.

Let them pretend

there’s still time to be saved.

I’ve kissed the mouth of ruin.

I’ve worn despair like a second skin.

There’s nothing left to fear

when you’ve already died

a thousand quiet deaths.

Let them.

Let them gnaw on their fingernails,

panic at the thought of grief,

rush to patch holes in sinking ships

with threadbare hope.

Me?

I float.

I welcome the flood.

I let the cold seep in,

and call it home.

Let the worriers worry.

I’ll sit with the dark

and call it by name.

life is a worriers game.