by joetwo

Stomach in knots, head is swimming.

Bile surges, my throat, it’s brimming.

My worried mind fills with dread

I’d rather die my death instead.

This worry fills my waking mind,

My days with terror of a kind

But soon I know that right will win,

Will never fall to small man’s sin.

That I will survive all this strife

and go to live a carefree life.