I don't really know why,
Sometimes what you have on your mind to say's,
Not really worth the time,
It takes from you moments that you could use,
Doing something you love,
So that it's e'en drenched in anxiety,
Which for a poem, might just be enough.
So, can you feel the pulsing in my brain,
Begging me to finish?
My fingers shoot the immediacy,
Through the keys with vi'lence,
Not even rhyme,
And a pang in my side,
Thank god I'm at the end of this stanza,
Lest my words start to anger and deride.