When the walls move in and the room gets small,
When the ground disappears and I suddenly fall,
When the sky gets so dark I can only see black,
When reality disappears, I have a panic attack…
I scramble for paper and reach for my pen,
I shake and tremble and count to ten.
I focus on the ink release all inhibition,
And begin to indite a composition.
The calming release of the words as they flow,
Stops the panic from continuing to grow.
In the end I look down on my beautiful creation,
And then kiss my pen; a miracle medication.