Panic

October 3, 2019

My bones, leaves on the trees of a windy autumn morning

My stomach, fluttering, ready to fly away, leaving me behind

My heart, a train pounding down the tracks

My brain, an ocean flowing through me, in uneven puddles

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

Comments are closed for this poem.