Waiting for the Sandstorm to Abate

I have got anxiety from the inside of my ears down to my Achilles ankles. Each severed nerve oscillates in waves of dismay like the hum of kitchen appliances. In ceaseless apostasy, I have taken what I can and then run for my life. Only safer ground never quite appears to be what it is seems from a distance. I can't believe now that I had faith in autumn mutiny and I cannot believe that you had such a threadbare dedication when the sky cracked like the plaster walls in our home. How could I lose the plot so entirely? How could a grown woman be certainly uncertain? What a way to let history destroy itself. You put your cards on principles, not on reality. I put mine on idiotic doubts where the green grass was in fact black. It's incredible how the pyrimids dissolved with just a few drops of rain. Back on this plane, it's self destruction by the truckload. In fact, there is rarely a time when I can't use a drink. Haze surrounds us like the aftermath of an atomic bomb. The sandstorm is all in our eyes awaiting the moment when a clearing will arrive. Now the bar is low and the stakes are blown away. It's all come down to a futile existence. I've been searching for you in my sleep and at the wheel like a fool. Only the cold light of your wall of China pride can be found. Yet we see it in our heads and we feel the pulse in our wrists. There will be another day for us. This is written in capital letters on the wall.