Writhing as if I have something inside of me
Twisting my stomach and squeezing my heart
Gasping as if there is not enough air to breathe
What is this agony?
Is there no sympathy?

Crumpled and folded like drawings you wouldn’t keep
Wracked by these tremors infecting my limbs
Clinched in a fist like my fingers are weaponry
What is this agony?
Is there no sympathy?

I know that you will see much more composure
When this is over; if this is over
I know that we can be civil and sober
Once we recover; if we recover
Maybe the antidote lies undiscovered
Under these tremors; under these covers
Maybe in time we will find it together
But for tonight I am destined to suffer

20 responses to “Tremors

  1. I wonder if it is a poet thing? An artistic thing, to have to just feel. The need to suffer and writhe rather than shutting off until you make it through.

    • Perhaps that is what makes poets and artists. When it is pain, it is extreme. When it is beauty or passion, it is intense. I have never been good at ignoring my feelings. I seem to be gifted at amplifying them though and maintaining open wounds

  2. I’ve felt just like this…after a big argument with my guy, horrible moments, if only we could be bullet proof to the wounds of love.
    Wish you a sweet and peaceful evening VW, big hug, Nikki x

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