Screaming of an Introvert

Curled up on an armchair

My fingers stained with ink or lead 

Shaking hands and too many tears shed 

I've never been able to get this anxiety under control 

The slightest slip up and I feel completely alone 

I can't explain it without the steady flow

Without the constant rythm that compliments 

The frantic pounding of my worried heart or

The labored breathing as my chest gets tight 

And my lungs flood with words I could never say aloud

More often than not I'll burn it

Rip it to shreds

So no one can find my tattered remains

Of what I should have said 






Love this. I can definitely relate to your poem.

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