I carry paranoia in a black briefcase,
brown empty envelopes
creased stained sheets to be signed 
brown paper bags;
my stained tie reeks of brown sauce 
blue blood and paranoid thoughts
of wind and windows and roofs 
soaring across a stormy sky,
and creaking ceilings
and creaking floors
and creaking doors 
— locked. 

I carry paranoia in a black briefcase,
on a black unwanted tie and in a mind 
bent on creaking.