All the Notes I'll Never Leave

Pileup- A Slam Poem

I've spent minutes on end watching you blink in and out of digital existence-
Wondering if you want anything at all to do with me-
Or if that is truly what you are avoiding after all.
I have spent hours,
Collectively,
Wondering if you actually care
Or if all of my messages screaming in your inbox like a messy highway pileup
Are simply keeping you are arms length.
Now you must understand that I did not drive the car that started this crash-
It was Anxiety-
Ever the klutz,
Playing the fool once again,
Who slammed on her breaks directly in front of me in the middle of the intersection of Depression Boulevard and Paranoia Avenue-
It was Anxiety who allowed intrusive thoughts to leak from her engine like gasoline and ignite the unfortunate vehicle behind her on fire-
Lighting ME on fire-
And so I stopped.
Stop.
Drop.
And Roll.
Elementary style across the pavement- soaking my very being in intrusive- terrible thoughts.
I worry that you are dead.
Logically I can deny this- the blinking "active eight minutes ago" is hardly cause for concern-
But I feel the thoughts soak my skin as eight minutes melts into two hours and already I plan your funeral-
I prepare myself mentally for the possibility of losing you forever.
I can't do this every time you go offline but I DO.
The notification ping is my worst nightmare and my best friend as I juggle the possible messages-
And each and every time that ping is absent I find myself creating a pile up once again and I'm SORRY.
But I'm too afraid to be sorry-
My lungs pump air far too fast for me to even catch the word sorry on my lips-
Anxiety has created a pileup once again and yet I do not take away her license for Paranoia always vouches for her- the traffic cameras tell her story and not mine-
And so I am left with another smoking pile of messages left in your inbox-
I bombard you with crashes such as these to assure myself that you are indeed, alive.
Active now.