AkathisiaAkathisiaEyes open in disbelief; another day.A sensation of movement begins;By nine it comes into full swing. Laid out on a couch,Tears smear on the leather; a face hidden in the pillows,I cry out, sometimes a quiet wail.I kick and kick and kick. My legs dislodge the cushions.In the car I rest my head, closing the eyes to dull the sensation.I pray it goes away. An Our Father to straighten out the mind.I wonder though, do the others pick up on my pain?They laugh and carry on.I shake and shake and shake. The car will stopAnd I should feel better.In the waiting room, out of many waiting rooms, the sensationSpares me naught. As I reach a wall I turn aroundAnd at the other wall I turn around. No one seems to be that concerned.I must be dying. I want to beat my head on the carpet. My thoughts flowlike clay on sand paper. I pace and pace and pace.There is no escape today.