Ten

Fri, 01/27/2017 - 15:32 -- Shelene

Close your eyes.

Breathe.

Count to ten.

One.

Two.

Your heart begins beating faster and faster, causing a terrible pain inside.

You bring your hands to your chest and dig your fingers into yourself.

You imagine you are tightening your grip around your heart.

You imagine the blood oozing from the vessel, drenching your trembling hands and the ground beneath your feet.

Three.

Four.

Your skin begins to tingle as the hair rises on your arms and the back of your neck.

Every time something brushes against you, the tingle becomes a violent heat, moving through every layer of your being.

Five.

Six.

Your stomach has churned in knots, tangling itself into an impossible puzzle.

Seven.

Eight.

With every breath you take, you can feel it, that sinking feeling, that awful feeling.

You try to focus on your breaths.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Yet, each and every time you do so, the feeling only gets worse.

The air around you has become so cold, burning your nose and your throat.

All you can focus on is sinking.

Sinking further and further into that abyss, oblivion.

You are terrified, paralyzed.

No longer can you move.

No longer can you escape.

Your legs would give in beneath you, should you try to run.

Your head would spin in circles, around and around, should you try to flee.

So I leave you with this.

Just breathe.

Nine.

Ten.

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Well done!

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