A snake of worry is twisting around in my belly.
Writhing and squirming, making itself known in the most nauseous of ways,
I am so afraid to return.
Dreading the click of my boots against tiled floors and empty hallways,
Dreading a morning without your smile in it.
The vomit and headaches from this morning tell me that I am not ready to go back, but I've got to anyway.
The monsters I bump shoulders with are nothing compared to what's in my head, so why should I be afraid?
If the numbness finds me, I hope it ices over my eyes,
Makes going back tomorrow a blur,
And freezes the snake to death.
