My mind races like worn tires in pouring rain
on streets with poor drainage where water
pools in deep dug out dips until your car lifts
ever so slightly over so dangerously
gliding on that acidic rain while you lose control
and that panic–that panic is part of my bloodstream.
It’s part of my breath. It’s in every pump of my heart,
pounding too far out of the rib cage. My heart plays
rhythmic drum beats, the kind movies use to impend
doom, on my breast plate everyday.
I don’t want to hear the music anymore.
I just want to sleep.

[ prompt from day four. titled after an Iain-M-Banks spaceship name. ]