An attack, a swarm
of winged insects against my chest.
A blur, a rush
of colours and defence mechanisms.
Fluttering across my vital organs,
and as sudden as a heart attack.
This inconsistent breathing
is waves crashing at cliffs.
No, not the rock at ground level, but
the sky high stuff.
A paradox.
A person, a girl
who craves human contact, yet
when granted, “fight or flight”
she soars.