Restless
It’s itching, switch-flipping
It’s ripping my stitching
The faucet keeps dripping
Sensations of slipping
I’m grasping. I’m gripping
Routinely, I’m sipping
As if it were fixing
The flaws in my mixing
I’m turning, I’m twisting
I feel myself twitching
Positions, I’m switching
I see the clock ticking
It’s taunting, it’s picking
It’s poking and sticking
It’s prodding, it’s fishing
Relentlessly dishing
I try dismissing
Hoping and wishing
To halt this tricking
Pleading to shorten
This brain distortion
This too shall pass
It’s only a portion
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2020
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