Fiddling (Original and Revised)

Original

Crawl across my skin,
Making out new scars,
Clawing away,
Leaving me with the SARS.

Sitting at my desk,
Fiddling with my fingers,
One thumb, two thumbs,
But that feeling still lingers.

The feeling I have felt before,
In the back of my mind,
Sitting,
Until it finally unwinds.

What is this feeling?
As I sit watching the rain plopping to the ground,
Men yelling,
I feel like I’m being drowned.

Downing in the lake,
With no recollection of the days that have past,
With no recollection of the actions I made,
Only wandering soul lingering in the broken cast.

But I wonder what this feeling is.
The feeling of the clouds in the sky,
Pouring its tears,
And the sounds it makes when it lets out a sigh.

And yet, I sit here at my desk,
Wondering but never to act,
Fiddling with my fingers,
As to distract.

To distract me from the day my soul let,
The day which I replay,
Yelling then disappearing,
When I found out I was only a valet.

I served my soul right,
But I could never let go,
Disappearing like a Monday morning,
Come back and put on a show.

Remind me of those feelings before you left,
When I could always find you,
Where you slept by my side,
Remind me when it was just us two.

As I sit here at my desk,
Fiddling with my brain,
Trying to understand why you left me,
Because you were my only vein.

Revised

The frozen wind, crawling across my skin
Blistering out new scars
Clawing away,
Leaving me with the deadly SARS.

Quietly sitting at my desk,
Fiddling with my fingers,
One finger, two fingers,
But that grotesque feeling still lingers.

That unnatural feeling which I have felt before,
In the back of my mind,
Sitting and waiting,
Until it finally unwinds.

My God, what is this feeling?
As I sit watching the hurdles of rain plopping to the ground,
Cars screeching, men yelling,
I feel like I’m being drowned.

Drowning in the lake of no return,
With no recollection of the days that have past,
With no recollection of the actions I have committed,
Only the lingering soul in the broken cast.

Still, I wonder what this lingering feeling is.
The feeling of the gray clouds in the sky,
Pouring its glistening and sticky tears,
And the ferocious sounds it makes when it lets out a sigh.

And yet, I quietly sit here at my desk,
Wondering but never to act,
Fiddling with my fingers,
As a way to distract.

To distract me from the day my soul left me,
The day which I rewind and replay,
Yelling and screaming and then disappearing,
Soothing as it was not, when I found out I was only a valet.

I served my soul right,
But I could never imagine letting it go,
Disappearing into the foggy mist of a Monday morning,
Please my soul, come back and put on a show.

Remind me of the time before these feelings,
Where I didn’t have to journey into the mist to find you,
Where I would wake up and find you sleeping by my side,
Please remind me of the time when it was just us two.

As I quietly sit here at my desk,
Fiddling with my deranged brain,
Trying to understand why you, my soul, left me,
As you were the blood to my only vein.

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