shaking
quaking
twitching
itching
scratching
never relaxing
never the chance to breathe in and
out the door
hit the floor
running
to a destination unknown
known to be out of reach
but still reaching for greatness
when greatness only slips
through
my
fingers
fingers that tap the table
rhythmically
sending my body
into an uncontrolled dance
of shaking
quaking
twitching
itching
scratching
never relaxing
never time to stop
my mind racing
leaving my mouth chasing
words never spoken
am I broken
on a level unknown
or is it known
but not shown
to the world
instead curled
inside my head
making me seem brain dead
but instead
my brain is more alive
it just cant thrive
on normal levels
of non interaction
when you run away from me
scared because
I am shaking
quaking
twitching
itching
scratching
and never relaxing















Comments
The repetition and lack of punctuation, as well as the choppy broken lines add to the anxious feel of this poem.
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Currently reading: Pratchett and Gaiman - Good Omens
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Currently reading: Pratchett and Gaiman - Good Omens
*The-Literati =Inked-Page
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Check out *DailyLitDeviations a group dedicated to bring literary art to the forefront of our community.
Poetic Visions of an Uncut Mind: [link]
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~Those talked over oft times make the best writers.
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yeah, I'm one of those "I really like this, good job!" critics. So sue me...
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Check out *DailyLitDeviations a group dedicated to bring literary art to the forefront of our community.
Poetic Visions of an Uncut Mind: [link]
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why isn't there another word for thesaurus?
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Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
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