Tightly anchored swarms hold me
neck-deep in fizzling,
crackling static. My breath catches when I
meet your eyes —
it feels mutated and automatic.
swims between the empty spaces
and faces are nervously waiting and
anticipating a pretty kind of coherence
but there are no more words
that could make me upright.
Giants embrace those
fiddly nights of
backward talking as
discord gathers and aims.
Minutes close in on themselves
and even magic could not alleviate the shame.
This poem discusses the chaotic feeling of nervousness and anxiety when confronted with a new social situation. The style is heavily inspired by E.E. Cummings, who used the shape that his words made to convey his emotions better.