Awaiting the match.

Anxiety is such a awful thing.

It churns your stomach,
Twists your hands,
And clouds your thoughts
So they never quite materialize.
Everything tastes laced with
The sour, bitter bile of nerves.
Like MSG or dirty pennies.
All experiences are sub par
Until the pin finally drops.
Will I? Won’t I?
Who will take me?
No plans can be made until then.
The whole world will keep moving as
We hold our breath
Lungs burning,
Head spinning,
Without appetite.
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Author: D Nash

Family. Fly fishing. Music.

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