In this pressure confined room,
One drop of sweat,
Equals one less thought of stress;
That cold metal chair,
Brands her arms as she tightens her grip.
Uncomfortable she tries to swallow her guilt,
And she's working so hard,
To fixate two wandering eyes,
Bloodshot as the evening.
Steady breathing, steady breathing,
But those racing thoughts,
Have left her breathless.
She's trying to stomache that regret,
And it's making her sick;
Her nerves are stretched so thin,
Intertwined fibers, ready to snap.
Idea's for a title anyone?