It doesn’t know boundaries.
It doesn’t understand when it’s appropriate
to flush my cheeks and inflame my chest.
It doesn’t know how to hold back
when my thoughts start spiralling
into a whirl of destructive what-ifs.
It doesn’t know it’s devouring me,
and all those around me,
with its catastrophic clauses.
It doesn’t know it’s not in charge
when it rages like a bull
in the china shop of my mind.
Even when the red rag starts fading,
it doesn’t know the exhausted angst
that still rampages my dreams.
For Day One of NaPoWriMo 2015: a poem about negation