My mind is churning
Working and humming
Water through pipes and sparks through wire
You can never really tell
If something’s wrong
Or if they’re just groaning while doing their job
I was new to this city
To this place I called home
When old pipes complained, I knew only of fear
They’re just doing their job
Not even working that hard
Just making some noise as they get through the day
My mind is like the pipes
In my small city apartment
As if unaccustomed to a late night hot shower
Their foil wrappings
Crinkle and crack
And I glance up, worried, not sure what to do
I’m not new anymore
I know nothing’s wrong
But I still grow a small worry tree in my gut
When my mind starts to crackle and moan.
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