Rainwater drips down past my toes to
puddles that mirror the waves going through my body.
My heart is shuttering like camera lenses, but the blood
backs up and pushes open the valves, relieving the pressure in my chest.
I continue to shake, the waves becoming tsunamis and
my feet go numb, but not from the cold.
I deeply inhale oxygen and look around
for my shadows that have just jumped from me.
My eyes are wide because the rain has stopped; bringing a sun that is too bright.
The sun goes down, and takes away the light, but now I start to
wait for adrenaline to return to me in a fever,
along with cold heat running up my
I begin to fall asleep, and I’m brought back to the surface
each time a dream tries to form.
I lay in bed, afraid to close my eyes again.
The next morning I don’t want to leave the bed that captured me in the night,
like a woman who cannot leave her abusive lover.
I hide under the blankets, knowing what to expect here, but knowing
nothing past them, knowing nothing of this blooming day.
Eventually I rise, returning to my body, the thing that is truly my capturer.
Waiting to go numb again.
I am actually not anxious at all right now. I just wanted to get this out and into words so when it does come back, because it always does, I have this. It’s therapeutic.