The only time I'm not stressed
Is when I've worked myself past the point of breaking

Being too tired to feel is my comfort zone
I feel so at home in running around
I don't rest while I sleep
Instead to-do lists and unfinished problems are scripted into my dreams
Using the backs of my eyelids as a whiteboard for tomorrow's tasks

I can't tell if this constant state of movement is Newton's Law
Or a feable attempt to be enough--for no one but myself

I second guess each right answer, every step forward
My thoughts get a racetrack in lieu of a bed

I know this isn't normal
So imagine what I'd do to be in the moment I'm living
Instead of the somewhere else I always am