Poetry was the silverfish I took the life of a few minutes ago
that paralyzed me with a fear of realization that I was alone in this situation.
2am, everyone asleep, no one to call,
just me and a bundled up shirt
letting out a war cry as I lunged for my white wall
cringing at the idea of a squashed bug imprinting itself on the paint
It’s not like the little guy has ever wronged me,
but intruders are intruders.
I’m still shaking