I don’t want to talk
Locked
Somewhere between my eyes and my trembling hands
I couldn’t hold the pencil
To tell you.

It fell from between my fingers
And I watched the chance to yell
Hit the ground
— my voice thins with your hair

One morning

I didn't wake up

And all of a sudden

The world fell in love with me

Panic stifles, suffocates.

My throat feels dry; a clump,
that brings disquiet in,
sticks there like a hull, a twig,
and moves its sharper edges
along my trembling soft insides.

"Get out!"
I would scream,
"Get out, worries and my fears.
Remain, serene feeling."