Cold and smooth down my throat
People rush passed but time is still
My feet waver. I can’t be still
Listening intently with no absorption
Fear that I’m missing out but aware that
I’m as I should be
My knees keep me upright staring. Not
longing. Intent. Not caring.
Thick and nauseating.
I craved it.
Thin and souring I need it.
Moving too much. I’m still too much.
My position hasn’t changed, but I’ve lost
I should abandon this feeling, but the want
is so much.
I choose what’s in front of me.