Manic.

She's manic you see.
Her thumb dances with the rest of her hand,
her foot taps like a pendulum that quickly picks up it's pace.
Blue eyes swing back and forth, catching a glimpse of the shelves out of place.
Too quick to catch a thought,
too slow to process one.
Beans drained into its magic potion,
a love that swims in a sixteen ounce cup full of sanity.
Push, push, she pushes away.
Arms distant, a voice struck with an awkward pitch.
Self pity has no room, but still it tries to make its way to the surface.
Help has a spendy price tag in the future that already arrived.
Today has indeed caught up with tomorrow.
Mania- tangible in the dust of her trail,
black eyes and battered thoughts.
She mutters words but not her own,
she gives love but not the truth.
You cannot see, I cannot see-
what it is or where she is.
And her thumb suddenly halted its dance,
her leg eased its tap...
Her mind shot with novacaine.
Slowed physicality, still fluent thoughts,
it's a race to the end, and not a victory in sight.