Anxiety

Phony smiles play at tired lips Passing through the halls hearing whispers unspoken Sitting at a desk, feet shuffling impatiently against the floor Constant glances thrown at a clock whose arms move more slowly by the second There is no escape when the prison is within you Discomfort is a thing of the past Replaced by pain and a lack of drive Fear that someone will pick you out in the crowd Addressing your paranoia gets you nowhere The nerves seem to spread from each fingertip Up to your head and down to your toes Heat and acid writhing in the pit of your stomach The bell rings and you launch out the door Never to look back Until next class period approaches And the torture begins again