Anguish, like having what you want
right at your finger tips,
yet having no way to take hold of it,
is pulsing through my body.
It takes over my senses,
latching onto my blood cells,
stealing my deep breath,
tainting my innocent laughter,
weakening my limbs,
colouring my skin,
and it makes me mental.
Mental.
Copyright
This work by Lena Rigby is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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