From the depths of nightmares I wake,
Chest aching, head ringing, feet tingling —
I can’t breathe! The world has lost color, I shake
I writhe. I—I—I need air. The bed’s too soft, standing —
Hands brace against the table, Heart —
My heart, precious muscle that pumps my life blood.
The room — It spins, swirls and crackles in black art.
Panic comes in a torrent, clashing with all senses — a flood.
I NEED AIR!
Hands fumble for the latch.
Books fall, chest splits, brain’s impaired —
The result of being in a two week, stress induced rough patch.
Do I have to dial 911?
Please, I don’t want to die.
So many things I want to get done,
Especially with you by my side.
Kind, unsteady hands take me to bed.
The world continues spinning, but I cope.
Fear is blown away, breath evening, mind filled with Dread.
Feeling returns to my extremities, body is on the mend.
But I can’t play pretend,
I turn to my husband, my best friend
And ask, voice a quiver, “Will this happen again?”