Ready or not

Here I am.

and I sure can tell when something's not right.

It creeps into my stomach. It feels like when that shot of tequila rolls right down the walls inside you, except backwards.

It goes right to my cheeks and I feel the radiant spots of purple and red blossoming cappilary clouds into my cheeks.

Then into my head for an edge of panic, fear of the unkown.

Then I sit. Eyes point downward into the dirt, past the carpet and the brittle flooring of an aging concrete slab into the cold earth.

It's quiet there, but not quiet in my head.

and there's my heart, on my sleeve again.