• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 04
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They Said It Was A Panic Attack

Ate salmon that night.
Put me off water for a long time after.

Sitting there in my comfy chair, and there's this tightness like I can’t breathe, so pull myself upright, inhale, but panic is having its way with me.

It's like a voice telling you
three tales at once, but without your consent.

It’s the season of water. I sweat. Breath won’t find my lungs, it’s unbraided my throat and died. Flights of birds flutter in my chest and the hum of bees in my ears.

Fingers curling into
claws like the corners of damp paper.

The floor spins drunk, and I'm abandoned by my childhood nest. I call out to my father, who's long dead, gone into his sky with my ragged poems.

Me. Compressed as the backside
of paper, and drowning in my own chaos.

Doc said it was a panic attack.