Stress

Current mood: tired
Category: Writing and Poetry


Stress

The anxiety I feel is real
I don’t know if I can deal
And now when I write a verse
I find it harder to try not to curse
Or swear or offend or be profane
Don’t call my Lord in vain
But I feel the urges on my tongue
I hope this pain wont last too long
This pain I feel in my lower back
And sometimes I think its a heart attack
Every time it hits me like a sudden drug relapse
Sometimes I feel like I’m the one that’s on crack
On top of my back like an extra back pack
Most time, if I wanted to mack, I don’t
And if the fly rhyming lines ever came, now they don’t
I thank God nightly for every day I cope
And live to write with only one hope
A hope deeper than just being dope
A hope that when I review my old quotes
I can laugh, for no longer living the life I wrote