One Hour

In sixty minutes the sharp cascade 
of volatile thoughts will cease
and I'll no longer be gagging
on the anger trapped
in the back of my throat.

My illogical rage cannot be challenged
with basic breathing techniques
and mundane meditative counting.

My only remedy is time.

So give me one hour...
Sixty minutes...
3600 fucking seconds...

And then I'll be okay.

Nostalgia

I am nostalgic for that day, 
even though it never existed.

In reality we were never there.
We never walked down that street under fluorescent lights. We never sat surrounded by bushes on that wrought iron bench.
Your hands never felt mine, our bodies never touched, and our eyes never did meet.

That day...
Those moments...
All those memories are fictitious.

Yet somehow, someway,
I still remain able to miss it.