It’s quiet.
Like a dark room, with a small candle.
Only a small flicker of light.
A peaceful pace of breath.
A chest rising and falling,
like a pattern that never ends,
never changes.

It’s still.
A green lake,
covered in moss.
Baby ducks follow their mother,
swimming peacefully.
Unaware that soon they will be alone.
Unassuming, not worried.

Then,
it’s not.

It’s not quiet.
Thunder rattles windows,
ferocious and angry.
Trees sway,
their limbs turning into long fingers.
Scratching and knobby.
Like a witch dropping potions,
swirling a poison.
So potent and dangerous,
even a touch can eliminate
the ticking of a steady heart.

It’s not still.
The ground rumbles with something underneath.
Something so unpredictable.
Even the bravest get scared.
Something always so steady and safe,
no longer.
It shakes and breaks the fragile glass
sitting on the counter,
once stuck in its place.

Something is wrong.

The constant, ever present fan spinning above.
Blowing cool air, providing peaceful sound.
Providing comfort.
It speeds up.
It goes faster and faster,
until it becomes a wind storm.

A fog falls.
Whirling around until eyes cannot see through.
It is blinding.

Air picks up.

Faster.
Faster.

Too fast.

It’s too much.
It is all
too much.

It was once quiet and still.
When you looked into my eyes.
The room was dark,
the candle sat diligently,
doing it’s job,
providing light.
Just enough.
Peaceful.
The water was calm,
innocent and kind to life.
Never able to be disturbed.

Now you look.
Into my eyes.
It’s scary,
foreboding.
Your heart beats faster.
It’s dark, it’s violent, it’s spinning.
Spinning and spinning.
Faster and faster.
It doesn’t make sense.
Like the wicked witch brought her twister.
Knocked on my skull,
and I let her in.

This is my home.
My home that fills every space of me.

When will my home be saved?
When will rescue barrel through, swiftly
as if there is nothing in its way to stop it?
When will the relief come?

I’m ready for the quiet.
I’m ready for the still.

I’m ready for rescue.