I work, I don’t speak, I leave.
I’m cool as fluorescent lights—
predictable, rehearsed.

So careful, so responsible.
I cannot fly in my dreams.
I’m apologetic, but never sorry.
I’m boring, but you’re still afraid.

I don’t exist, yet you believe in me—
a familiar chill whose source you can’t decipher.
You don’t see it, but I feel it too.
Now we’re both uncomfortable.