Sometimes I can't help it.
I just go, go, go.
Jittery, can't stop it,
can't stick with the flow.
I'm noisy, obnoxious,
just chill out, like whoa!
Run 'til I vomit
but still can't go slow.
Rambling gossip.
Shit, now they know.
But still I'm so conscious
of every hello.
It's kind of ironic
when I feel so low.
Hands twitching in pockets,
I can't let it show.
YOU ARE READING
Ghostwriter
PoetryLiving with mental illness can oftentimes trap one within the inner maze of their mind. In that place, dreams, fears, wishes, and regrets all compile together to create a new world far from the one we physically exist in. At times, it becomes easy t...
