Sunday, 21 October 2018

Parrying a panic attack.

I'm gonna need a minute.
I'm anxious, and I'd thank you to let me sit in it.
Your talking is like the squawking of a magpie pecking at my eyes.
Every question, the suggestion that my heart beats faster and breaks free.
My stomach is a black hole, and I can't breathe.
You're just chatting away, still.
I'm begging you just chill.
Because I can't talk right now, so what I mean is, cool your jets.
This isn't over yet.
I'm gonna need a minute.