my puppeteer.

Everything went black.

I need more air, more time, more space.

Gasping for air is never more painful than in the heat of a panic attack.

Hyperventilating all of my fears away; it engulfs me, body and soul.

Dad holds me close trying to drown out the shakes.

“Breathe.”

Sure, I would breathe-

I would breathe, but my lungs are torn in two;

Struck with shock and rage.

The surrounding premises blurs out,

Hearing fades out into the abyss of nothingness.

Tremors escalate to a petrifying climax,

Just as the cold sweats join the party- uninvited.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, God dammit.

Dad, where is the air?

Like a rag doll,

My limbs quiver uncontrollably.

Anxiety- my puppeteer.

 

 

 

plot twist.

Sometimes the words cannot suffice.

Nothing can mend a dead psyche.

Spending hours away from the place you grew up in order to

Escape the banter.

Begging them to give a damn when in reality,

There are no reasons to.

Sitting in the same seat in the same coffee shop in order to gain some stability.

Going through the day speaking fewer words;

Running around more attempting to fill the void.

Flipping through countless books struggling to leave your current reality.

Nothing.

Sentences dwelling deep within awaiting assembling when

All the while, it’s constructor is going through a period of severe writer’s block.

Wondering when everything will come together;

Realizing the inevitable.

Scaring myself into believing everything is momentary,

Much like the overflowing stream marking its territory over its pale and freckled turf.

Reaching for life in the midst of the clouds.

Slipping through the cracks of bone and skin.

Life as it were,

is only a temporary moment.

A glimpse of

Random events sown into an oversized quilt.

With gaps depicting the stagnation of life’s

happenings.

Plot twist.

post-R.

Nowhere is save anymore. There is a tight knot deep within my throat that fastens me to the earth although my mind still manages to linger.

Nowhere is safe anymore. All the sacred spots I deemed my own over the years are now black holes.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Emotions are becoming hard to control along with my weight. Nausea lurks behind each bite or sip. Emotions are the dragon and I the Knight.

Everything is foreign. My body is a missing puzzle piece; a glass of water exposed to oil.

Everything is a blur. Packed in a room overflowing with people; I am alone. Deaf and drowning in a whirlpool of nothingness.

Struggling to finish a sentence, a poem, a thought, a feeling, a word.

What is this?