Anxiety's Boot

The heel of a heavy boot hangs over my head. 

I wait for the steel toe to tap upon my noggin. 

My stomach churns acid as if I am making butter 

That is as rancid as acid rain. 

I look to the sky to see if there is relief 

From a God who counts every hair 

Protruding from my nostrils. 

A dark cloud is seen in the west. 

The steel toe begins to pitter pat. 

I look for distractions from my ailment, 

Can’t seem to find my glasses 

And where are my keys? 

I appear to be a bit disoriented. 

The boot is ready to pound. 

I know somewhere it’s there. 

Even if I can’t see it, 

The boot is always there. 

I just wish I did not care.