The Second Hand On The Clock.

 

the second hand on the clock

ticks with every passing moment

and with every tick,

my heart flies into my throat

beating through my chest

begging to escape.

 

i anxiously check my pockets

over and over again

chanting

‘phone, wallet, keys’

even though i know

they’re there.

 

my fingernails are bleeding

from the nervous picking

that i don’t notice

until they’re sore

and red raw

staining my sleeves with red dots.

 

the pent-up, nervous energy

makes my foot tap.

until it aches

all the way up my leg,

but i can’t stop –

it keeps time with the clock.

 

the thoughts in my head

bounce from one imminent disaster

to the next,

as my eyes flit around the room

nervously waiting

checking for exits i don’t need.

 

from my first waking moment,

i’m on edge,

questioning, waiting,

wishing away

this debilitating

sense of anxiety.

 

my mind is buzzing

my ears are ringing,

the clock is ticking,

and i wonder what it would be like

to live a day

with silence in my mind.

 

 

 

 

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