Stress
It’s dark down here
An uncomfortable pit
Devoid of cheer
But it’s not the Wishing Well, is it?
My stomach hurts
My head aches
I speak in spurts
My world quakes
Tears flow over and
I think I might be sick
Don’t give me your hand;
I’ll take it too quick
Well, I’ve read some books
The Imp of Perverseness has got me
But just off of looks
I’d say I can still see visibly
Clouds are rolling
Clocks tick
This pit is controlling
Nothing will click
I know it’s not that hard
I know I can fix this
But I’ve let down my guard
And everything’s amiss
I’ve stopped moving pieces
In a complex game of chess
Pawns lost in creases
Well, I guess that’s stress
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