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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