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