Would you pass me that napkin, please?

A fear of being hurt,

Being turned into pieces

of chert.

A fear of never again

wiping dry inner rain.

A fear of a week in the bed

by myself, playing Freud,

feeling sad.

A fear of an awful tomorrow

Fetching plenty of time

that is hollow.

And of other unthinkable calamities,

Including a fear of an insanity...

If this phone does not ring

And my heart skips a swing,

If today you won't call.

I have done everything,

This one's off my control.