The Second Hand On The Clock.

A poem.

 

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.

 

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “The Second Hand On The Clock.”

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