Pushed

Funny, isn’t it

How negative emotions

Strong feelings

Become adrenaline fueled body rushes

Which have the power to turn digits

Into wild animals that crawl over the keyboard

Like skittering scattering cockroaches

My breath gets shallow as a sports fan’s mind at playoff time

I try to regain control like a swami

But I’m no eastern mystic

Some buttons can’t be unpushed

Those cockroaches need to crawl back

To their dark corners

Before tranquility returns

 

David Trudel  ©  2012

 

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