The Little Hand Ticks

Standing in line

is a fine time

to get lost in your mind.

Traveling back in time,

to every mistake

and all what ‘if’s’;

panicking over a reality

that doesn't exist.


The line inches forward painstakingly slow,

but your thoughts are so fast;

rushing,

swirling,

zipping around in that mind,

as you continue to wait in that line.


You feel the eyes of the other zombies looking at you.

They know your lies.

You can see it in their dead eyes.

They know the lies.


This is a great time

to unzip your skin

and crawl out,

but you just adjust your pants,

and slick back your hair,

uncomfortable being human.


The line inches forward.

The small hand ticks in that usual rhythm.

You wish it knew a new song,

and you could fast forward in time;

anything

to get out of the Goddamn line.

Anything

to get away from those judging eyes,

that know your lies.

Anything

to get out of your own Goddamn mind.


Yes,

the DMV

is the perfect place

for a self induced

panic attack.


If only the mind could relax…


The line inches forward.


The little hand ticks,


and the thoughts keep swirling.


-C.H.

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