Telling

 

I feel it crawling

like insects,

inside my brain.

This thing that longs to be set free

prowls beneath my skin,

through my veins.

Its touch a fleeting breeze

 

I hear its voice,

its anguished crying in the dark.

Poking me with bony fingers bent,

trying to gain my attention.

 

I pay no heed,

and continue as I was,

through the prodding and poking,

the crawling inside my head,

the echoing whispered pleas to hear it,

its thunderous shouts to be seen.

 

Until finally I hear it,

and see clearly what is there.

This thing inside my head

is just a story I must tell.

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[TLK]

I think we've all felt this.