Please make it stop before I pop.
I wonder if I can really pop like a zit?
Ripping skin, let the bleeding begin.
Blood joining tears, slime like, grit.
Mountains appear smothering me in fear.
I'm losing, this grip to tight to stop it.
I've no tangible way to fight this today.
Unreal, all in my head, feels like a deep pit.
Blood disappears as if to say I will be okay.
Panic goes with my breath, the air smells of shit.
Eyes focus, aware of my pit of despair.
I'm alive, wrapped in a blanket of sorrow I sit.

March 30, 2017 © Becky Jo Gibson, All rights reserved

100 words for contest Panic

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