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PANIC attack

I lost a poet to his ego, but I’m not one to judge.
They used to push me towards the ward and now I wish that I had gone.
There’s something calling me out!

She grabbed the bars on the windows; they were as cold as his hands.
AH! this metaphysical nonsense jetting out her neck,
Banged once, twice, three times where the staples had been.
She forced her eyes OUT into the grooves of the night
White as the moon ruminating the sky
A tree a black reindeer had eclipsed behind
A PEIRCING SHRIEK! The twitching! The girl sound asleep in the next bed
THIS IS OUT OF CONTROL! Said the man with the ink and the pads
There’s something calling me out and I must get to it
Get my teeth onto these things, they must give way
Elbow it! Elbow it! Shoulder, other one, use my HEAD
Blow ONE, TWO, THREE, the staples dripping

Fibonacci, wind tunnels, 50 million Elvis fans can’t be wrong
Sequence strip my identity, a majority said that I wouldn’t belong
And there’s something calling me out.


Calling me, calling me out.



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FaeNotMyNameThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jan. 27, 2013 at 3:23 pm:
As I was reading this, I could imagine someone writing this during a panic attack.  They're dreadful, I know.  Of course, I know I probably wouldn't be able to be as articulate as you during one of mine that apparently you are during yours. However, here's to days where panic attacks ain't no thang. Don't have to worry about them, but can still write using another part of our imaginations.
 
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JuanCCR said...
May 8, 2012 at 8:52 am:
Cool...anxiety feels just like this at its worst
 
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