Pulling Over

My fear
Of traumatic events
Is the gift
Which leads me
To them,

Bridging
What little leeway
Exists between
Panic
And death –

Keeping things
Very tense
And feeding
Such anxious
Feelings

No matter
How rare
Or infrequent
Each experience
Happens to be.

Making me
Lose my cool
And swerve
When driving
Erratic,

Believing this heart
To be failing
While begging
Thin air
For a breath.

Rushing
With fear
To stay calm
And checking my pulse
In this mirror,

Thinking that end
Is impatient
As color
Escapes
From my face.

Learning
I’m probably safe
If only
For the briefest
Of seconds,

So my pulse
Returns
To normal
And this ride
Resumes once more –

Forever
Into unknowns
And tomorrows
Beyond
Fair reasons

Or certainties
Left imbalanced
By the prospect
Of varying
Fates.

Mortal
Though hardly sane
For ones
Still willing
To witness

Such fleeting
And weak securities
Transient
And wrongly
Assumed.

– J. Pigno

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