Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2018
Your stomach is 10 ft underground and you feel like throwing up
You notice your palms are clammy and a drop of sweat slowly slips down your arm
You’ve already bitten at 8 of your 10 nails that you were immensely proud of growing out
And three of your fingertips have dried blood following the curvature of your fingers
You start tapping your feet, tapping your hands in an effort to remain calm
Waiting for the answer you slowly unravel and lose the twine
DustBall
Written by
DustBall  A small town
(A small town)   
161
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems