tension lies beneath this smile,
a nervous energy fueled by too little sleep and anticipation of the future.
music helps… sometimes. writing is barely an escape.
these legs long to run, arms long to strike.
left hook, right uppercut, elbow to the face.
enemies only i can see.
a scream is withheld, scorching my throat with its intensity.
my lips are bruised, but not from your mouth.
troubled by my own fears, anxiety.
i itch to move, as if that will shake my troubles,
i could sprint for the exit, but they’d lash out,
coiling around my ankle, yanking me down