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My left eyelid is a trapped, frantic bird,

jumping at rhythms I haven’t even heard.

It started with coffee, a third lukewarm cup,

but now I’m on page ten and I can’t look up.

'People also ask' is a list of the damned,

a door to a cellar that’s finally been slammed.

Aneurysm? Tumor? A rare brain event?

I’m spending my life on a fear I just invented.

I scroll past a forum from twenty-twelve,

where people like me continue to delve

into the 'might-be' and 'probably-too-late,'

while my pulse counts the seconds I’ve left up to fate.