Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Erian Rose Apr 27
his fingers fidgeted with the stars
comets flying like racing cars
when he glanced above, all he hoped
to sing a lullaby to the one
he loves the most
My Ocd is flipping switches,
My adhd is pulling pupet strings,
My brain is on vaction for most of the day,
and when he comes home it's night,
his favorite time to party.....
I get no rest,
And tomorrow there's a flippin' test!
I have some problems... Don't judge me .....
A Simillacrum Oct 2018
"I will beat this," I swear.
No one else has,
as there is no end,
but there must be an end.
I'll find it.

Watching everyone spin
on their axis,
touting their progress,
there must be a someone
or some thing!

Watch me spin.
Spin and fidget.
Watch me spin,
spin and fidget.

Spin the blades
to your right.
Now you're loading. Now
you're spinning.

"I will beat this," rings obsolete.
Now, "I will secede,"
seems pragmatic.
Is it romantic to
be at one with nothing?

Cross legged on the floor,
I whisper,
to myself,
"Oh,
         you
                 bet."
Emily Chambers Sep 2017
The skeleton on my shirt that matches
The pain in my head as
Letters pop up on my phone I cannot read
From here
Behind me and
The more I fight my medication that
Whispers to me
"Sleep. Morning will come. The day is done. Smile."
But
The more I fidget and
The more I write and
The more I cry has it
Screaming to me and
I faint knowing I am nothing more than
Pills in bottles.
Poetic T Jun 2017
I could do tricks with those fingers
balancing acts of precision breath
was controlled for this moment.

One false move, and that moment lost,
sighs were heard, head shamefully hung.
As I would have to start over once again.

"OK fingers don't fail me now, I rotated  
getting a rhyme, I heard the excitement
as she released her ecstasy on fingers.

I was her fidget spinner, fingers fine
tuned to do those tricks to make her
world spin, she fidgeted in ecstasy.
Gavin Barnard May 2017
As a poet, an emotional wreck,
And a suicidal human being,
True love to me is
Forcing my hand through my ribs
And tearing my heart from my chest,
Settling it in your hands
And expecting you to keep me alive.
It might be slippery from all the blood, and its probably gonna start stinking cause of decomposition and maggots, but if you drop it its not going back in.

The worst part about three AM is that I'm hungry and I gotta be somewhere tomorrow. Finally evolving from a NEET into... Idek whats next.
Jodie-Elaine Jun 2016
My hands fidget.
I will tell you when I see you that
my fingers could break when I speak,
loose from the chicken wire houses that pin them to nail holes
no one sees and my words could snap
with them, straight down their spines.
My hands fidget and my tongue trips.
One day I won’t be allowed to see your eyes, your eyes when the sun hits them and they turn green, your eyes when they're blue, when you're being real. Or both.
The sun is in your eyes and it's setting.
I think I could be the moon,
we could meet at every eclipse,
create our own lightshow in the sky or make them notice us just for five minutes,
the kids sat on steps behind the sports centre,
I will tell you when I see you that you are so ******* smart you could ruin the world with it, so why can’t I tell you this, so why can’t my hands stay still?
I want to feel the way my mouth tingles when we sit, you murmuring in my ear that you could spend all day here,
alone with the indents of each other's lips.
I guess if we ruined the world I wouldn't even feel Numb, the Nirvana song.
My hands fidget.
Recently I stuck a sticker over my fear of death to try and be as brave as you and now I am Nevermind,
I can't feel a thing.
My tongue sits still when I try to speak about thinking and when I think of losing you I see Topcat, Pink Panther and this time my mind trips over itself.
I chew my lips and the corners of my mouth close.
I can’t see in the dark like I can’t breathe when I see cartoons like I can’t see **** when you say we need to talk like I’m scared of the ******* dark so please walk me home.
You find my hair bobbles at your house and I'm sorry that that last one wasn’t a metaphor.
I imagine the space behind your closed eyelids looks like a dark place at 3am where you exhale smoke.
I imagine the space behind mine is inhaling, coughing and static in the form of a thousand headlights blinking
and
it burns.
My hands fidget.
You call me out and it sounds like my brain not being able to hold itself still, I can't,
I can't stop fidgeting under those blue-green eyes.
When you tell me you love me my fingers stay still.
When I think it's loud like nerve endings screaming at me god-**** react like
controlling hands, interconnecting veins jumping from wrists,
hazy.
The stuff of nightmares where you say I don’t trust you
but I know that your hands on my wrists would not,
do not,
burn
like that.
I will tell you when I see you
I will not wrap you in chicken wire.
I am writing to tell you that when you speak my hands stay still.
I am trying to say that nothing snaps and my head is
quiet.

— The End —