you ever get the feeling you’re supposed to be doing something, but nothing you do ever makes the feeling go away? that’s been my entire life since high school and i wrote a poem about it cause i couldn’t sleep no name for this one

-------- gliding ink spills over cardstock, speaking words that have no meaning. how does anyone live with the world waiting on them to make a move?  i fear i am suffocating it when my steps start to stutter. the world must be waiting on me. my pen glides with black gold drifting smoothly from word to world. hold your breath, just a little longer. someday soon we'll know again, what it feels like to breathe.