Poem: Sense of Panic

Sense of Panic

Ah, it's the start of another Booksie day

So much to do, so much to say

You read through your comments, but you're still in bed,

all of these nice words that people have said

"That's nice" you say outloud to yourself

Your non-comprehending brain should tell

you to be careful, but you plow on, undaunted

Soon, by a flick of the wrist, you'll be haunted

You hit delete on every single one

And when you check the Tribute, you think, "What have I done?"

For every single comment from there has disappeared

So then you stop and think, and it is just as you feared,

You really messed up, and the comments are gone forever

And here you thought you were getting so clever

at using your compter, but the joke's on you

You tell yourself you must be wrong, but you know deep inside there's nothing to do

The sense of panic, the sense of dread when you realize what you've done wrong,

that all that hard work from others, is just gone!