It's called anxiety. Sometimes, I can pay attention to you. Sometimes, I can't. Some days are better than other ones. But the others, Well, the other ones look a little like trains Going a little too fast for their tracks Like clocks that break their glass fronts And cartoon characters with smoke Coming from their heels when they run Running faster than the 60 seconds a minute allows It is my body moving too fast for me to Catch my breath but I'm just sitting at my Desk tapping my pencil and I can feel the Teacher drilling holes into the back of my Skull I know the God-awful sound is killing her But it is keeping me from going insane It is chewing away the insides of my Cheeks And scratching at my forehead Looking for answers But always coming up with hungry hands It's hearing white noise And glass shattering And candles flickering I know I should not be hearing a candle Dance But I do It's just me spinning out of control I know you've noticed I'm no longer using Punctuation but this is how I always feel This is how my mind is It is always racing My foot swings back and forth like Poe's Pit and the Pendulum swinging faster and faster towards my chest and it's Always on fire My hands fumble with puzzle pieces Because I identify with the one that's Always missing It is being lonely in the hands of someone Who loves me I feel his calloused hands hollowly like I Don't have a right to them It is wanting to scream to the hooded Figure in the door "I'm scared" but it Coming out as an inaudible crack in my Voice I find solace in the cracks between tile I'm looking at my reflection in black Screens wishing I could just pick myself Up From the bottom of orange bottles with Safety-***** lids A doctor once told me one day I would be Okay But one day seems to be miles and Years away I've shrunk to the size of a stick My bones jutting out every which way Paper-thin and too many words to fill the Hole in my confidence a man once bore Into me My hands shake when I step into a church Like I've done something wrong My mind goes over every event up until Now wondering why my hands shake and My chest drops below the floor Grandmother tells me I will go to hell if I Do not act right and my mother tells me it Is All in my head But again a doctor gave me An orange bottle with thirty tiny white pills And told me one day everything Would be Okay. I just want it to be okay. My mind is always racing like the way "Normal" Ones do before taking a test not studied for. I'm sure you will consider this an episode Of marked depression, but this monster is Anxiety. Sometimes I can pay attention to you. Other times I can't because of this Infinitely. Running. Mind.