I'm anxious about nothing. I'm craving for everything. But everything is running through my fingers like sand. My breath is short. My energy is next to nought. I feel like I'm flying but I want to land.
I feel hands all over. I am very, very sober. I hate this oh so much. A big hand on my chest, another scanning the rest, and making disgusting voices and such.
I'm frozen on the spot. It's two on the dot. I wish I was at least in a bed. This place smells like drugs, I'm pressed onto the dirty rugs, I feel my head spinning with dread.
YOU ARE READING
Turquoise Emotions
PoetryI am trying to cope with my chaotic, hectic self. These are my late-night thoughts.
