Waiting

Waiting on you is harder than you might think.
For you the day is a thrill that passes—gone in a blink.
But me, I sink, I wait and shrink,
like a thing on pause,
like a slow motion blink.

And the day is a week before you know.
But I feel it, this evil molasses flow,
the slow drag of a lazy undertow,
the blow by blow of nothing,
with fuck all to show.

It's so easy, so quiet, this wait-and-see haze.
But trust me, underneath is the tick tock of my rage.
It's the same damned words when you turn the page—
you say it's different,
and I nod, feeling crazed.