A Pestilence of What-Ifs

There was (a) time
when all we did was shake
with fear in our hearts and
unending rhythm of defeat,
its inevitability undeferred.

About expressing ourselves
attuned to the expectations
borne in shadows carved by
a misunderstood light, like
chemiluminescence in the
claustrophobia of beneath;
in a big meeting tomorrow,
in tests yesterday, at a job
we don't have but we have
the experience of downfall,
its inevitability undeterred.
'What if they see through me?'

About lukewarm response
swallowing whole attempts,
exposing us to inadequacy
previously shielded by lack
of labour that fielded with
fluency the disappointment,
its inevitability suspended.
'Is it rotten luck or just reality?'

About our lives split in half
by the habits of rejection
and the startling stagnancy
of the ones who are closest,
or worse, the detonation of
kindness that comforts and
reassures and encourages
and promises ascendancy,
its inevitability guaranteed.
'What if it's not worth the pain?'

There is a time
when all we do is wonder -
with fear in our hearts and
faith on auto-refresh daily,
all inevitability punctuated
by the unending rhythm of
one deadly, pestilent query:
'What if I never see you again?'

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash