There’s tightness in my chest,
and at best I’m feeling quirky.
My hands are shaking,
and my nerves are making me
come quite undone. It’s no fun
to be exasperated, devastated and
percolated, discombobulated.
I appear to be fated to a life of angst,
against all odds, I should abort,
my knees are weak, my breath is short,
my sorry heart is palpitating,
frantically defibrillating.
I start to mutter,
and so I stutter,
There is no other way to see it,
this panic attack has me defeated!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Poetic Asides 2017 April PAD – Day 8: Panic


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