Panic Attack

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Panic Attack

Heaviness....

Scaly with

Sharpened tentacles

hold of my being...

 

Hot breath

breathing down my neck....

 

Anguished pain

tormenting me...

Helpless...

Unable to move,

I await death

and all of it's darkness...

 

Somewhere ahead

a light shines.

Although faint at first...

It is a small glimmer of hope.

 

Still I sit....

helpless ,

unable to move....

unable to speak,

I am swollen with fear

of what lies ahead.

 

Who will help me?

Where will I go?

How shall I live?

 

Unable to cry out,

I still sit motionless....

allowing fear to envelope me.

tlh2006 (c)

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Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

classictbird59’s Poems (26)

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