I close my eyes to concentrate–
to recollect the words;
the patterns that can slow my breathing.
Beads of sweat trickle
from my temple to my chin.
Does anything have more meaning
I fight the urge to use my right hand–
to immerse myself in the habit
of twirling my hair.
I bite my bottom lip
but don’t taste my own blood.
Can anything be more nerve wrecking
I slide my bum from the padded stool:
to accept the massive stain
of failure once again.
I walk into someone’s chest,
and my heart’s wildly beating.
He’s here in the nick of time!
Nothing will ever be better…than this.