Spit it.

I’m beginning to choke.
My legs shiver and my voice has broke.
My throat begins to curl.
I feel like I could hurl.
The people expect me to have spoke.
From the buzz of the light, my mind becomes awake.
My fingers clench the end of my coat.
In the heat of stress, my mind starts to twirl.
I’m beginning to choke.
Seconds pass by, I feel like I could croak.
Anytime now I would fall flat with a stroke.
The butterflies in my stomach begin to whirl.
The very blood in my body begins to swirl.
To request me to say anthing is an instant revoke.
I’m beginning to choke.