There is always an empty page to be filled,
And words are our means of doing so.
But what, if anything, can we do to fill
The emptiness in our hearts –
Black holes that tear
Into the very essence of our being?
Soon all shall be consumed by darkness,
Erasing memories both dear and painful –
Soon it will all mean nothing.

An anxiety attack holds the body pressed against a table, unable to even struggle as the ropes pull and fold the layers of your mind like a peeling lable

Cloth begins to cover the exposed skin, over a layer of sweat that starts soaking in, panicked and encased in claustrophobia with weaning breaths that sound out a hallowed hymn

Skin pulled tight along the muscles, layers ripping across the joints like papyrus separating blood vessels, body pressed so tight that straight knees crack with the buckles

Unable to evade the stout flame hooking into the small of your back flaring up to the ceiling charring the body black, its a panic attack that has you trapped

Mummified and cremated without a hope of escape while motivation lays in ashes around the structure left behind in the agony of a triggered perception

All without the grace of an execution outside of this institution, locked away from happy thoughts and depression, the trauma stops only when it waits to feed on the negative pollution.