guess I'll think about why I feel ill.
Stomach feels like it's in knots,
can't eat, everything tastes like it rots.
Feel like I'm going fast,
in no particular direction.
Maybe I'd feel better if I was found,
or felt some needed affection.
About seven more minutes to go,
can't watch TV, hate every show.
The house is silent, and I'm very still.
Wish I could calm down, wish I could chill.
Five minutes down,
five more to waste.
Killing some time,
writing with haste.
I feel like a bother, probably a bore.
That's the last thing I want for the one I adore.
Down to just 240 seconds or so,
imagination running out, rhymes I don't know.
Time just speeds by,
when you wish it would stop.
The years just race on,
people just drop.
Now I am down to the two minute drill.
Wish I could calm down, wish I could just chill.
Just over sixty seconds left to kill,
still she escapes me, still I feel ill.
