It’s killing me

on

We fit, and yet it worries me

Like a dog chewing on a bone:

What do you think of me?

Am I good enough?

Do I talk too much?

Do I smile too much?

Do I laugh too much?

Am I simply too much?

*

And I know my head should be filled with other stuff

Than cotton fluff

But no debating on my part will make my brain function properly.

*

It’s killing me not knowing,

Being unsure,

Hoping without even the shadow of future knowledge.

*

My hands shake,

My stomach grumbles,

My body doesn’t know how to stay calm and serene

When you’re not sitting or walking beside me.

How the hell do I cure myself of this?

(16:53)

October 22nd

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One Comment Add yours

  1. Nicodemas says:

    This is beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

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