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Literature Text
Here I am going crazy again,
tweeting at 3 a.m.
One hundred and forty characters,
such a bitch.
It’s just not possible to condense
such rampant panic
down to that insignificant little number.
“Freaking out, m8s!!!!”
just lacks that certain something…
Gravity. Honesty. Beauty.
@PoeticHyperbole – My anxious mind is a treadmill, my thoughts an army of middle-aged, overweight hypochondriacs forever walking to the beat of a thousand ‘what ifs’.
147. Almost.
@PoeticHyperbole – I am an almost middle-aged, overweight hypochondriac forever marching to the beat of a thousand ‘what ifs’. This mental marathon has no end. I want to stop. I want to go home. I want to end.
150. Not quite, and the metaphor is laboured, like my breath.
@PoeticHyperbole – A wild storm rages, cold, grey, furious, behind bright sunshine eyes. Can you not see the cyclone whirling without end? Can you not feel the rain run cold and clammy down your neck? Can you not hear the frenzied gasps as I’m swept away by the flood?
253. Definitely not, and may Queen Dramatica please exit stage right.
@PoeticHyperbole – My friends, I am trapped in my own tormented thoughts.I am alone.I am frightened.I need you.Please, help me.There is no light, no peace here.
140. Sharp. Honest. Beautiful.
I guess it can be done…
But I am still going crazy,
#tweetingat3am.
tweeting at 3 a.m.
One hundred and forty characters,
such a bitch.
It’s just not possible to condense
such rampant panic
down to that insignificant little number.
“Freaking out, m8s!!!!”
just lacks that certain something…
Gravity. Honesty. Beauty.
@PoeticHyperbole – My anxious mind is a treadmill, my thoughts an army of middle-aged, overweight hypochondriacs forever walking to the beat of a thousand ‘what ifs’.
147. Almost.
@PoeticHyperbole – I am an almost middle-aged, overweight hypochondriac forever marching to the beat of a thousand ‘what ifs’. This mental marathon has no end. I want to stop. I want to go home. I want to end.
150. Not quite, and the metaphor is laboured, like my breath.
@PoeticHyperbole – A wild storm rages, cold, grey, furious, behind bright sunshine eyes. Can you not see the cyclone whirling without end? Can you not feel the rain run cold and clammy down your neck? Can you not hear the frenzied gasps as I’m swept away by the flood?
253. Definitely not, and may Queen Dramatica please exit stage right.
@PoeticHyperbole – My friends, I am trapped in my own tormented thoughts.I am alone.I am frightened.I need you.Please, help me.There is no light, no peace here.
140. Sharp. Honest. Beautiful.
I guess it can be done…
But I am still going crazy,
#tweetingat3am.
I wrote this as an experiment, and as stress relief. It was written as I recovered from a severe asthma attack that saw me stuck in the ICU for 5 days. As I didn't know I had asthma, you can imagine how much of a shock it all was. I am a very anxious person by nature, so I've been stressing about it a lot, too, which doesn't help.
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