An ode to feeling this way

This is a song about having an anxiety attack.

An ode to feeling this way

Come to me, squeeze me.

Place your hands on my hips and inflict pain on me.

Remind me, too, of the night scent of strawberry smoke.

I get it occasionally.

Drink with me, Lonely.

Don’t need a barmaid, or barman. Poison for my company.

Take my control, being and shape:

turn me an aberration when skewering me.

Fingers delicate over and under the spinal cord,

playing out something grotesquely.

And what is this wave, but helplessness

And what is this sensation, but a falling

And what is this place, but my own hell

Muscles twitch but don’t get to anywhere,

feel the air like beetle antennae.

Heart rattles its bars, brain throttles the jailer, captives

I’m taking down with me.

A vibration in wires of veins and arteries into paralysis,

detuned ethereality.

Soul a rag. Eye burned yolk. Magnesium teeth tighten.

I’m my own enemy.

Damned pain: pain of the joyful act with the absence of joy.

A repetition zombie.

And what is this wave, but encasement

And what is this sensation, but landing

And what is this place, but my own hell

No one can reach into me and release the screw and I want to sleep longer