It's like stage fright, or like an addict licking lips before the next taste of the crack pipe
I'm just writing this so I can lose myself in the calming effect of steady type
But, it's not working, my fingertips are shaking, it's like I'm caught up in my own hype
I mean, it's my Slam, but I'm bruising my own psyche with doubts... I'm a fruit, over ripe

The staccato slap of fingers against keys isn't giving the ease it normally does
My heart rate's increased while I write this piece, and my head's all abuzz
With, "what if I forget? go over time? not get picked? blank just because?"
I feel like this everytime I Slam, as if I were a little kid giving the name "moustache" to peach fuzz

I'm sorry if you'd read this far through my rambling, but it's a subconcious rhyme
I'm just letting the flow go on so I can eat up time before showtime
I think I need to go get a drink, maybe a rum and coke, maybe a corona and lime
I hope I can keep it under three minutes and ten seconds, and get the scores to make the grand slam this time

It's 6:03 and I don't have to be out until about six fifty
This is unnerving, poetry is unequivocably an intrinsic part of me
So why am I as nervous as a sixteen year old girl in the few minutes before losing her virginity
And, if you've read this far into my rambling, I'll stop here, and once again, I'm sorry

-Dingo