(intrusive) : return

at times, when I’m standing still
I feel

I was watching traffic,
feeling my whirlwind thoughts
at my legs
as if they were hands strung up
to a wooden crucifix,
with the fingers flicking me
closer to my demise.
there are whispers behind my ear,
“You aren’t moving
Fast enough,
But those cars are.
Let’s have a race.”
the Urge flits away
just as fast as it came.

come when I’m sitting as well.
to mix a cup of black tea
and two sugar packets,
then leave a metal spoon in the mug,
my fingers hovering
over the buttons,
the polarity underneath the pad
of my index
Pushing, pulling
on the poles
of the idea,
“You’ve had close calls before,
Why save yourself this time?
Let’s see the sparks.”
the Urge
flits away just as fast as it came.

it isn’t normal,
but then again
when was I ever?
I’ve told no one
that these urges have surfaced again.
I’m afraid they’ll


at me,
then slip a hand under their desk,
feeling for a red button.


these odd thoughts are for myself
to chew like the inside of my cheek
to keep them pinned to my tongue
behind a cage of teeth.
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