My amygdala is fried–I feel no fear Maybe I should Stress over whereI will piss safelyOr the number of pillsIn my little orange bottles,Which are few but fillMy cabinet so clutteredStill empty…I can’t find itI can’t summon the cortisolBut it’s swimming thereSomewhere deep Maybe I’m drowning. I’ve beenHabituated to the lickOf salty water welling in…