Nodding off to the tappity-tap,
bobbing with a string-played song,
I shake off my chains.
The chains that make
my stomach hurt,
my head buzz,
and my heart quaver
at what the future could hold.
I don’t want to give in
give up control
to the sticky way
fear holds tight to me.
Hissing,
writhing,
pain is coming…
you will fail…
no one cares…
and he will leave.
But tappity-tap,
hear that bass,
hear that drum.
Sway a bit,
flip my hair,
feel the carpet between
my toes.
I don’t like this.
The sticky, the icky,
the thing that paints
tragedies
into my mind.
Sway, sway,
music, listen to the music.
Don’t give in.
Tappity-tap tap,
a lady sings of rain
and tin roofs.
Tappity-tap…
And it’s still there.
Author T.S. Lowe 