Fingertips
bounce
a centimeter up,
a centimeter down,
fast-motion blurs,
unconscious slips.

Inaudible taps
on my desktop,
craving to be heard,
rescued,
comforted.

Fingers
now tremble
a millimeter up,
a millimeter down,
hovering
in the air.

Salted,
heavy drops
land on the shiny
rings
that decorate
them.

[griiiiiiiinndd]

Dry,
open hands
turn damp
as fingers
curl under,
nails digging
into palm.

Anxiety
converts

[no formula]

into rage,
anxiety turns
deep red
into hot,
painful
anger.

Fists

[fly?]

throb,
eyes burn,
until realizing that
escaping
what is there,
what is real,
is not possible.

Fingertips
surrender,
and eyes close,
in hopes
that next time,
there will be
a follow-through.