Panic attack creeping up on me,

I can feel it curling it’s long, icy fingers around my shoulders,

It’s not as bad as it could be,
It’s not gripping me as tightly as it has before,

But I’m in a hotel room,
Somewhere down south,

Flipping through traumatic memories in my head,
Like pages in a photo album,

From my life and generations before me,

And even though this one isn’t as bad as many before it have been,

In a way it feels worse,
Because this time you’re not here,

And you always knew what to do.