Dark blue
Hoodie,
Pulled over his head,
Over his eyes.
Quick,
Silent,
Shallow, breaths.
Feet apart
Hunched over
In his metal chair.

The blue, white,
Light
Dripping down
On everyone
Like a leaky
Sink,
Pooling around your feet.
Your black,
Soft,
Sweatshirt
Clings to your body.
He runs out of the room.
Hood
Still over his face.
No one thinks anything of it.

"I was leaving,
And he-he...
He's out there,
He just..."
You all rush out,
Your "boots"
With the sole
Coming off the right toe,
Drag on the floor.
You feel stupid,
You hardly know him,
But you're following
Everyone
Who does.

Short,
Breaths.
Coughing.
Laying on the
Cold,
Hard,
Plastic,
Church
Floor.
Scared phone conversations.

Red and blue lights
You only catch
Glimpses of them,
Like a hushed
Talk
Your trying to listen to
Only a few words,
Meet you.
"Does anyone know him?"
"I do!"
He sounds terrified.

"Any drugs today?"
No.
He can hardly move,
Like sure,
He can answer.
"Any food allergies?"
No.
"What did he eat today?"
"McDonalds."
"Do you have a history,
Of anxiety attacks?"
Someone stands in front
Of you,
You don't see his reply.
But you recognized
The difficulty
Inhaling...
And the rare
Coughing
The gasping.

"He said his chest felt tight..."

They push him out,
The bright yellow
Of the gurney
With light,
reflecting off it
Hurts your eyes.
"Ok, I need people outside
For questioning."
You stand in the back,
You can't answer anything.
What's the point?

You're nervous
His eyes rest on you
As they take him.
Your palms sweat,
As you wait
For him to look away,
He doesn't.
You never felt so small...

Your chest starts to tighten,
Wined up
Like a wire,
About to break.
A bitter
Taste
Forms in your mouth.
You saw him,
when he was sitting,
You thought
It looked...

And you didn't
Say
A thing.