my chest hurls wind,
my ribcage blowing, as if a washing line,
all this invisible movement,
running inside of me,
all these insects that live here inside of my top,
here between my breasts,
a nest for fear,
I struggle to grasp what is happening in these moments,
I play into double life,
the one where I am crippled in fear,
where my breath is caught by birds,
beaks puncturing my diaphragm,
my lungs not filling,
daily,
I pace my days knowing that it could be my end,
so I pretend its not,
I play Warrior Mode,
Mental,
play as if my Tongue hasnt been swallowed by my Throat,
as if there are not sharp metal shavings being screwed into my sides,
as if they aren’t outside looking in through my window,
as if they havent arrived.
I can’t breathe.
Yet still,
I move,
because I must,
and I don’t know what the fuck thats about.
dear god help me find the right help.