Anxiety

75.

I feel it starting, like a prickle down my spine.
My rubbery lungs expand and push
against my ribs.
Organs start crawling
up my throat
leaving a hollow cavity
which I must seal.

My heart is pumping faster
but the only thing to get my blood moving
is to fill my emptiness.
Hands shaking I scrawl a haphazard
paper chain to keep me from floating away
as my love looks on concerned.

“Can I fill it with a kiss?
A caress? If I whisper to you
will my words fall through your ears and
weigh you down?”

But anxiety
is not like drowning
and a life preserver won’t reign me in.
The only thing to do is wait
for me to compress my lungs
and talk my insides off the ledge.

Let me close my eyes and breathe,
give me room to reassemble.
I promise I will come down soon.

When I can concentrate enough,
the Earth starts shrinking
until its mass rests on my pen tip
and I can write the blood back through my veins.