I gnaw on my fingertips,
hunger is the only thing I find filling
my stomach as the anxiety that I had
eaten at breakfast left me shaking.
I grab ahold of my left hand pinning it down
preventing the cutlery inside of it from trumpeting
the return of disorderly thoughts which parade
uniformly in and out of my head as I look on,
a bystander caught in the front line
without having bought a ticket to this grand event,
Excusing myself I cut lines to get a turn at the bathroom
where I keel over, neither giving in to nor conquering
my psychological nausea.


2 thoughts on “Disorderly

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