Hold your breath
Count to 10
now hyperventilate;
Really quick, shallow puffs
like a broken gumball machine;
puff, puff, puff
Now hold again
Don’t stop.
Feel that panic in your gut?
Pulse in your neck?
Not yet?

Just wait…

Feel it now?
now imagine you’re 10 flights up on a fishing lure held tight by scotch tape.
That’s what it’s like to feel out of control;
That’s what panic over nothing feels like; seems like; is
so go ahead
believe we’re weak
the quiet sufferers
the lonely group
we know the truth
our monsters can’t be out-ran
nor faced — in fear of loss;
loss of whatever sanity is left.
We are the soldiers with no sanctuary
Wooden swords against steel shields.
So we’ll sail on
sorry with sorrow