My days have become twisted.

I spend most moments stuck between a panic attack and a nervous breakdown
And I’m not sure how to leave that cycle.

On the best of days,
I lie down and try to distract my mind
From the cold, creeping, frantic terror
Welling in my stomach.

I’ve come to realize
That there’s no aspect of my life I like anymore.
I’m pushing away the people that I love again.
I’m using poetry as a coping mechanism again.
I’m using again.

I used to write with rhyme schemes
Pentameter
Rhythm and thought
Countless drafts
And keep them each close to my chest.

But now I scrawl frantically and afraid,
Genuinely, truly scared of it all,
Desperate to get something,
Anything,
Out into the world.