You'd be so surprised by
how much attention a book can draw.
Coupled by my black clothes
and defeated look.
But on the inside I'm screaming,
this close to a panic attack while I drive down
these old streets,
where we fell in and out of love.
But I put a smile on my face
and hold my head high,
pretending that I'm strong enough,
though I'm obviously too close to
a nervous breakdown to be of any use.
I embarrassed that poor waiter,
but he shouldn't have tried
to talk to a mess, a wreck,
like me.
I was scared, and I'm sorry.
YOU ARE READING
Seeking Solace
Poetry"No One Sane writes a novel" "Now you see What's wrong with me." // Chicklit #366 Miscellaneous poems of a never ending sort.
