A/N: A poem I wrote one night when I was particularly stressed out. Seems like I'm always writing my poems at the dead of night. :D

Stress

Stress. It eats you alive from the inside-out. It's like the monster that hid under your bed when you were a kid: never seen but you always knew it was there. Stress starts out small, bubbling up in your stomach until you burst. Until the tension becomes too much and you have to escape; escape the world, even if just for a little while.

It's almost like an adrenaline rush, only it's nowhere near to feeling good. The unnerving stress claws at my stomach, and, though I try to ignore it, my mind is screaming at me for some relief, any relief. I find myself tapping anything, whether it be my feet or my fingers, in a pathetic attempt at releasing my pent-up energy. My heart seems to beat so fast I fear it will jump right out of my chest and runaway.

Eventually my eyelids will droop as exhaustion overtakes my weary body. My fingers tap to the rhythm of my heart- onetwothreefour, onetwothreefour, onetwothreefour.

Stress. It eats you alive.