Every day
I want 24 hours between today and tomorrow:
Breathe
I want to quit feeling this tightness across my chest:
Breathe
I want my stomach to desire food as much as my mouth
Breathe
I want to enjoy beer as food not medicine
Breathe
I want to feel as if I know what I'm doing
Breathe
I want to feel less as if we're doing something wrong
Breathe
I want to get out of here
Breathe
Full of breath
I ran screaming; mere hellish jobs looked great
Compared to my hell-hole.
11/100
all the voices in my head 
It would be difficult to describe the interior hell I felt the second quarter of 2018. Even the outward reality shimmered a bit like something not quite real. I hadn’t felt like that in…what? 45 years? Even if I tried to describe it, I likely would be violating an NDA, so there’s that too. One day I’ll revisit this not-quite-a-poem but where it goes from here….? Don’t know at this time.
I got anxiety reading this. You captured so well that feeling of being trapped in a job that’s sucking the life from you. I’m so glad this isn’t your reality anymore.