The Second Time Around

My tongue tied into a knot

and a bang in my chest

soft grass tickling my toes

wind dancing with my hair

stars calling for the touch of my fingers

silence echoing the sounds of my demons cries

darkness consuming me in anxiety

the stillness before the storm holds me tight

thick air burning my throat

a gentle touch turning my skin into mountains

lips breathing life into my lungs

my pen swiftly caressing the paper,

sprinting for the finish line.

My eyes dart from wall to window

my leg creates an earthquake

the distracted reflection  and quick movement of my hand

scrambling to capture the part of me that I left in the memory

fighting for the correct arrangement of letters

to repaint the picture

 but it's never as good the second time.